


Historians

by devastatron



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drabble Collection, Golden Age, Headcanon, M/M, One Shot Collection, Pre-War, Spark Play, Transformers Spark Bonds, quarantine has me posting gay robots again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 20,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23918635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devastatron/pseuds/devastatron
Summary: A collection of pieces that explore the dynamic between a gladiator turned warlord and an archivist turned Prime.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime, Megatron/Orion Pax
Comments: 30
Kudos: 175





	1. Agility

**Author's Note:**

> I often find myself writing short drabbles of Megatron and Optimus that never quite work their way into significant stories! However, I finally have the courage to post some even dating back to 2016. These are not posted in any particular order. Please enjoy!

Megatronus grinned as he studied Orion Pax’s movements. It was genuine in its nature, yet still appeared challenging.

He moved his larger frame with ease in every stride, avoiding Orion’s every pending blow. The unskilled librarian was quite agile. He even held a potential vigilance that the champion gladiator admired. Orion was relentless in his every move, each one calculated and paced. Orion was never one to be haste, even when it came to that of sparring. He was strategic and tactful, almost as if he acted merely with his intricate thoughts and his frame just happened to mirror them. Megatronus appreciated his determination.

“I must admit,” the gladiator began, even as the archivist spun his frame to throw his lower pede against Megatronus’s shin. “Your efforts are indeed admirable, my friend.”

Orion hummed deeply, “Perhaps I am ready to fight amongst your men.”

Megatronus had to laugh, “My men would crush you.”

The archivist mirrored Megatronus’s swift movements against him, letting his servo strike Megatronus with a commendable force as his frame spun to follow his back kick. Surprisingly, the gladiator found himself stumbling a few steps back.

“While I do not doubt that, I can assure you I would best their agility,” Orion humbly laughed.

His ability to counter was fluent and came naturally. It was no secret among the pair that Orion Pax could quite easily be taken down, but Megatronus delayed, for he enjoyed sparring with the librarian. The process of teaching was just as satisfying to Megatronus as learning was to Orion Pax. The gladiator had no intention of overwhelming Orion, instead he simply chose to mentor the curious archivist. Orion was surprisingly unpredictable, despite his lack of practice in the field. Although, every choice strike was steadfast. Some of which genuinely caught the gladiator off guard.

Megatronus always watched Orion carefully, however. He noticed the archivist's stance was off just shy of a micron. It was an undeniably amateur mistake that Megatronus had witnessed innumerable times while training. Unmindful of his mistake, Orion simply prepared another combination to use against Megatronus. As his fist shot toward the gladiator, a pede easily slipped between his own and a heavy grasp reached forward to twist the archivist’s fist until he spun around completely. Orion Pax felt all of the breath deep in his chassis escape his lips as he quickly felt his frame collide with the wall.

Megatronus smirked slightly, obviously pleased. It was an expression that Orion didn’t particularly appreciate.

“What was that about your agility?” Megatronus lightly taunted. His grip did not relent. 

Orion huffed, struggling to move against Megatronus’s firm pin. He could feel those digits tighten around his frame, and his intakes caught in his throat. “I never said I could best _you_ , Megatronus.”

“But you could best the ones I’ve spent strenuous eons training?” Megatronus questioned the archivist’s confidence.

Orion found himself smiling, “I could try.”


	2. Swordplay

Thin digits moved to brush sweat and grime away from above his line of vision. Orion exhaled slow and steady as he shifted on his pedes. Each of his movements were steadfast and calculated, allowing little room for error. The archivist was quick to counter, and even quicker to lash out. The very tip of his sword nicked the gladiator's massive silver chassis that heaved heavy intakes as they sparred with an unwavering intensity.

Megatronus smirked, despite the small wound that began to burn from the fresh exposure to the blistering atmosphere of the gladiatorial arena.

"You have improved remarkably since our last session," he observed. "Should I be concerned that I have since been replaced?"

Orion grinned at the genuine banter. He released a heavy breath that made his entire frame tremble, although his grin never subsided. He steadied himself with his narrow sword protecting just below his jawline, still cautious to completely let his guard down despite the casual conversation Megatronus engaged.

"You have not," the archivist reassured. He lowered his blade for just a moment, "Although, you are right to be concerned. I have since practiced. Your previous victories in the arena have been an excellent addition to my studies."

Megatronus took to a challenging stance, "And what have you learned?"

Orion leaned forward, "I have learned that improvement comes from what you observe in others, so that you may apply such knowledge for your own benefit."

Megatronus's expression raised, "I am not impressed by many of my trainees. Although, you seem to always be the exception. You would make a fine warrior, Orion Pax."

The archivist grinned a bit wider, showing off a set of straight white denta. And with that, the pair straightened out their stances and continued to spar. Megatronus moved his frame with a practiced ease that flowed naturally, given his extensive time and training that has proved to bestow the title of champion upon him. Orion Pax was a novice who moved with a different kind of diligence. The archivist was not built for battle. He was small in stature, compared to that of a gladiator. Although, he possessed vigor and stamina. He was determined and dexterous, and it showed in each of his strikes. He could stand his ground against Megatronus, though it was hardly an easy feat. In fact, it was quite far from easy, but the archivist had extensive training from Megatronus himself which proved to be successful in spars such as this one.

Amidst their sparring, Orion recognized a fault in the gladiator's stance that provided him the opportunity to gain the upper hand. His wrists worked diligently as he moved to thrust the edge of his sword against the blunt edge of Megatronus's larger blade. The force was enough to surprise the gladiator who found himself stumbling back. 

Orion replied to the gladiator with a certain tone that was almost soft enough to stop Megatronus in his tracks.

"If I have improved, it is only because you are quite the mentor," Orion admitted. His monotone was humble, still the words he spoke were prideful. The archivist never faltered from the fight as he explained himself.

Megatronus grinned slightly. He felt his expression burn as they continued, although whether the sensation came from the heat of the fight or the words Orion Pax spoke was not addressed.

  
  
  



	3. Insomnia

Megatron was so tired. 

He could feel his systems were heavy with the imminent desire to shut down for recharge. Instead, the warlord stood awake. His talons worked diligently to decode a set of coordinates on a large hologram displayed across the wall. He pulled out virtual figures to examine and study them, although he began to experience some level of vertigo. 

It must have been cycles since his last recharge and double that since his last fueling session. His tanks churned uncomfortably, but the dull ache of pain was simply an irritating itch now. 

He grew well accustomed to the sensations. 

Megatron stood tall as he analyzed the images that spread across the hologram, still seemingly unbothered by the pain. However, he wished that he could ignore the memories that distracted him in these late hours just as easily as he disregarded the pain. Although his mind seemed to spare him no such sympathy. His CPU raced, despite himself. 

Thoughts of Cybertron, mostly. However, he seldom recalled the Iaconian archivist. Only on occasions, which Megatron deemed himself truly delirious, did he think of him. Only when his mind exhausted all other possible ideas. 

For there was no exceptional excuse to think of Orion Pax other than delirium inspired by sleep deprivation and starvation. 

He should try resting. 

He was not sure how many Earth days it had been since he last recharged. A few, he guessed. It didn’t really matter when he thought about it. 

Still, Megatron felt his systems beg for the silent serenity of sleep. He knew he would feel better when he woke up. He would feel... more like himself. The warlord despised himself when his mind resorted to such a state, though he elected to ignore that it was self-induced. He loathed the recollections that plagued his thoughts. He could remember each one so vividly, despite his very efforts to forget them. 

First, that notorious montone. For reasons unknown, his voice was always easiest to distinguish from memory. Perhaps because Optimus Prime sounded so similar. Then, bright cerulean optics are reintroduced from distant memories. That youthful stare was eager and rich with the desire for knowledge, while the solemn stare of the Prime was full of wisdom and grief. Those small, nimble servos possessed an electric touch, whereas Optimus felt cold. The extraordinary frame crafted by Primus himself was quite different compared to the humble stature of a librarian.

Orion Pax was ordinary. 

Still, Megatron was once genuinely captivated by his magnetic appeal. That was quite some time ago. It did not even make sense to reflect on such sentiments anymore.

Megatron was just tired. 

The struts and heavy wiring that composed the tyrant’s dorsal aligning ached and creaked as he shifted. He stood there for hours deciphering ancient Cybertronian texts. At least his ambition to retrieve all of the relics kept his mind busy from such recollections. Occasionally, his thoughts wavered back to Orion Pax, though he would never truly admit the longing he experienced in late hours such as these.

He simply needed to sleep it off.


	4. Recreant

Jets soared across the burning skies past the once glorious skyscrapers of Vos which collapsed across seas of divided Cybertronians who waged war. Optimus Prime stood tall in the shadows of its destruction not quite cowering from the battle, but instead facing its destructor. 

Azure optics lost themselves in the bloodstained clouds. Optimus’s audio receptors were tormented by the shrieks of colliding skyscrapers that were reduced to shrapnel. Through the debris that raged through the atmosphere and the thick smog that followed, Optimus focused on only one Cybertronian despite the devastating screams of his comrades, his enemies, and of innocents who perished as he stood still. The Autobot leader gathered himself as he broadened his menacing stance, preparing to put an end to the destruction by removing its perpetrator.

Beyond the ceaseless battlefield, his stare met with those of crimson. While their beholder was many ways away, that glare still felt close enough to experience its familiar intensity. Optimus elected to engage without hesitation, unsheathing his weapon and charging with powerful strides. 

He let out a powerful yell as he approached the warlord with the intention to terminate him. Once he was close enough to strike, Optimus swung his blade directly toward Megatron’s helm. The tyrant swiftly dodged the attack. His dorsal plating shifted as he bent backwards only to advance forward in retaliation. The edge of his own blunt sword thrust forward to catch the edge of Optimus’s silver abdomen. The impact was deep enough to draw energon. Although, it was hardly enough to phase the Prime. He was quick to strike again. This time, Optimus’s servo moved to collide with Megatron’s helm.

The opposing leaders sparred with unyielding vigor, each determined to land a blow more devastating than the last. Neither relented, until Optimus gained the upper hand by thrusting his weapon against Megatron’s off-hand hard enough to slice through the grey armor protecting his forearm. 

The tyrant drew back a few uncalculated steps and adjusted his helm enough to elicit the echo of an unnerving _crack_.

“How it pleases me to find you recreant to my armada,” Megatron provoked as he nonchalantly examined the fresh wound. “Your army is but specks of _dust_ beneath the Decepticons feet.”

Optimus listened, disguising how Megatron’s words phased him. Although his every limb was plagued with tremors of rage fueled by adrenaline, the Prime still appeared rather collected as he met the warlord’s taunt with a more aggressive swing of his weapon. The edge of his sharp blade collided without fault against the blunt side of the sword that reached from Megatron’s injured servo. The Autobot leader held that stance as he scorned Megatron, against his better judgement. 

“You will never be content, Megatron. You will spend millennia waging this war only to find _scraps_.”

A mirthless laugh rippled from those worn vocals. It was insincere in its entirety.

“I shall be _very_ content once I have stripped you of your feigned glory and taken what was rightfully mine!”

Satisfied with that threat, the tyrant curled his thick talons into a fist and thrust it into Optimus’s abdomen with a commendable force. Optimus felt his audio feed swarm with static as the pain spreading through his torso pounded to the rhythm of his spark beating. 

Another forgettable skyscraper, stretching endless kilometres high, combusted from its massive center and joined the fallen soldiers as it fell to Cybertron’s core. The ground the opposing leaders stood upon trembled viciously from the perpetuating explosions, although that only inspired a more intense duel. As the dust and smog grew thicker to cloud their vision, their strikes became less vigilant and more desperate. 

“Nothing was ever rightfully yours!” Optimus Prime expressed with a certain bitterness revealed in his heavy monotone. His attacks reeked of desperation.

Megatron lashed out again, aiming for the Prime’s spark. He tormented Optimus, “Finally! Some _rage_ from you.”

“Do you believe that I have not felt any rage in these eons of war that you have so arrogantly perpetuated?” Optimus demanded, his denta bared in a condescending glower.

Megatron grimaced. He paced away from the Prime before spreading his large, armored servos to expose the Decepticon insignia that replaced the unmarked center of his chassis. “I have but taken a means of _initiative_ ," he answered with confidence. "I have forged my own true legacy by establishing a regiment to protest against a tyrannical hierarchy. My Decepticons are loyal to me because I speak of truths,” Megatron snarled. “You cannot burden this war on me simply because you know that _your_ cause is the one that is corrupt. You are a deity of lies because that is what you are composed of-” the tyrant gestured to the Matrix of Leadership with an accusing talon. “That is what your Autobots fight and _die_ for.”

Despite his intention to remain undisturbed by Megatron’s taunting words, Optimus found himself fuming. Enraged, he launched an armored servo forward. His digits, clenched in a powerful fist, collided with the warlord’s strong jawline in an abrupt, untactful strike.

Although the brief attack was not anticipated by the warlord, he was fast to catch himself and retaliate. Megatron’s large servos hastily came forward. His sharp talons clawed deep into the crevices beneath Optimus’s shoulder blades. The Prime felt the breath deep in his chassis rush out as the back of his frame collided roughly with a wall forged from the dirt of Cybertron. A deep, pained groan escaped Optimus as he quickly adjusted himself to push back. The joint of his servo bent and his clenched fist met his own chest. He threw his elbow into Megatron’s jaw before quickly jabbing him hard enough to elicit energon from his lower lip.

For a moment, a generous space was forced between them. Their varying stares met. From the surface, anger was the only distinguishable emotion that swirled in Optimus’s stare. The warlord hastily returned to his former position and locked his grip on the Prime. He recognized the slight tremble in the Autobot leader’s servos and down his frame. While Optimus wore his hatred and anger boldly, there still remained a hint of something else hidden in those suppressed tremors.

“Tell me, Optimus,” Megatron began in a low, groveled whisper. His servos pressed firmly into the pin as Optimus struggled. “How does it feel to watch your Autobots die? To hear them _suffer_?”

He could feel the suppressed heat of rage from the EM field that emanated from the Prime’s frame and instantly he possessed the answer. Optimus was not only angry. He was stricken with grief. Optimus was unaccustomed to loss and death, whereas Megatron was well acquainted. The sound of his allies, and even his enemies, crying out in battle was beyond dreadful. 

Megatron watched how the Prime’s expression contorted so genuinely as he was inflicted by a haze of undesired emotions.

“It is not only Autobots who suffer,” Optimus assured. His steady gaze narrowed as it locked with that of crimson. “We all shall suffer until I end this by destroying you, Megatron.” 

Powerful servos collected the strength to force a steady distance between them. Optimus Prime readied his weapon, anticipating that the warlord would advance. However, Megatron simply stood there. He bared a deranged grin that only made him appear more menacing. His taunting blade swung back and forth steadily in the eerie silence as he prepared to fight. 

“I will enjoy seeing you fail.” 


	5. Nevada

As the Earth’s star settled far beyond the darkened horizon of Nevada, Optimus Prime stood in the desolate landscape among the forested mountain slopes. He felt his spark twinge with a dreaded anticipation. The war was hardly over. Optimus knew that, regardless of Megatron's untimely demise from the space bridge explosion.

The Autobot leader stood tall on the peak of the structure where his base existed, hidden far beneath the ground. He craved solitude that evening. Through the ceaseless network of arenaceous valleys, this feeble mount was where the last of the remaining Autobots sought refuge. This was their new home.

How long ago did Optimus begin to refer to this rock as home? He must’ve known, although it evaded his preoccupied thoughts.

Optimus always possessed an avid memory. He was always aware of how time came and left in seconds painted by actions. Somewhere along the way, Optimus lost track of this war. He could no longer tell where he left imprints, and could no longer anticipate what exactly was next to come.

Since when did time begin to seem so insignificant?

Optimus sensed his spark contract deeply. His large, armored chassis felt heavier with each steady ventilation.

So much pain- all of the time.

Perhaps that was why every second on Earth felt surreal. He was always in pain.

Hope that such sensations would eventually reside seemed futile. He experienced the dread of war so vividly, even on this new planet. Still, Optimus Prime wondered exactly when it was that his suffering became natural. The tall, blue fins reaching from his helm itched with remorse as he reflected on his recent decisions. 

Did Megatron _need_ to die?

Optimus admit he had long abandoned the hope of influencing the Decepticon warlord many eons ago.

Was it eons? Perhaps centuries- perhaps seconds. 

He learned that Megatron was well beyond listening to reason during exodus. Optimus never quite successfully negotiated an armistice with Megatron, although he was relentless and dedicated in his efforts. The tyrant only grew more delirious on Earth, and proved so by exploiting dark energon. It was truly his downfall.

Death was never the answer to end the war, regardless of how desperate each leader attempted to terminate the other. The only way to peacefully end the war, that Optimus believed possible, was unity. It seemed an impossible feat, although Optimus was always determined. Should they have joined efforts to revive Cybertron and establish a secure and civil democracy, a viable future with all Cybertronians may have been conceivable.

This philosophy was ancient, however. Devised by a gladiator and an archivist millennia ago, long before hatred and malice consumed them. A small part of Optimus held on to those principles through all of the eons of warfare, despite the consequences of his naiveté.

Peace was far from reach.

Still, the Autobot leader envisioned it would be earned one day, so he never truly committed himself to terminating his enemy. Optimus found some inexplicable comfort in the truth that he remained alive as well, always spared by Megatron. 

Tragically, Megatron perished by his own hand.

It was difficult to discern what would come from this. Surely another Decepticon would rise to guide the faction. Perhaps Starscream. Soundwave, even. He knew the death of Megatron would wreak havoc among the Decepticons, and could only anticipate that they would soon avenge their leader by initiating unspeakable conflict. For that reason, he grieved the loss of the warlord. 

Despite their differences, Optimus imagined that Megatron deserved a proper burial given he was once an honorable gladiator. The crazed tyrant he became deserved nothing less, he supposed. It seemed rather appropriate that his spark was scattered among the stars. 

Optimus Prime lost his gaze in the midnight skies above as dusk settled over the valley. The desert was barren of light, so the Autobot leader could easily distinguish the constellations that belonged to Earth.

He admired the stars and wondered if Megatron was out there, or if that was just wishful thinking. 


	6. Iacon

As the bright, distant moons that lay in orbit beyond Cybertron’s atmosphere ascended to illuminate the city of Iacon, Orion Pax shifted his weight beneath the deep emerald skies. He leaned comfortably against a sleek rail that stood at his waists height and reflected a hologram of a deep azure wall that met with the silver ground.

The archivist let his gaze wander the worlds above. It was typical behavior for the data clerk to lose himself in his studies when he truly committed himself. He found genuine pleasure in recording the patterns of constellations in his personal data-pad. During his silent observations, Orion failed to notice that he was no longer alone.

Megatronus stood what he considered an appropriate distance away from the busy archivist. Steady azure optics studied Orion Pax. Although the archivist was nothing short of ordinary, Megatronus couldn’t quite define his developing fascination with Orion Pax.

“Kaon never quite offered a view like this.”

Orion quickly met his gaze with the source of those familiar vocals. His chassis deflated in a heavy sigh of relief once he recognized his friend.

“Ah, hello, Megatronus,” the archivist welcomed the company. “What brings you out here at this cycle?”

The gladiator slowly approached Orion. “I could ask the same of you, my friend. I realized that you had left your quarters some time ago,” he inferred.

Orion could feel his audio fins burning. He wasn’t sure what it was about Megatronus’s company that made him feel this way. 

“I could not rest,” the archivist explained briefly. “I find comfort in the stars.”

Megatronus listened carefully, “I see. Recharge does not come easily to me, either. However, I must say that I envy you, Orion.”

Soft, azure optics flashed to meet his own. They were laced with concern and guilt, and hidden beneath many layers of cerulean was a hint of something else that was troubling to decipher.

“Nightfall in Kaon hardly offers a view like this,” the gladiator explained. “Smog buries the constellations you chart.”

Megatronus averted his gaze to the millions of stars and planets beyond their reach. Now, it was Orion who watched him. The gladiator towered over him, although he was hardly intimidated. Orion was simply intrigued by Megatronus.

“I understand you had nothing while working in the mines of Kaon,” Orion blatantly spoke.

If it had been anyone else who spoke so boldly to Megatronus, it may have easily been their last words. However, Megatronus recognized that the archivist's tone was not ridiculing nor sympathetic. He spoke in a monotone that was notoriously punctual.

“Nothing is a vast understatement. I earned everything I own,” the gladiator explained. “My honor. My title as the Champion of Kaon. My freedom,” he listed.

Orion nodded. Some part of him acted instinctively, and he found himself grasping Megatronus’s forearm tightly. It was a powerfully reassuring gesture.

“You deserve _far_ more than what you were given, Megatronus,” Orion clarified. “I will help you achieve greatness. I will stand by your side until the stars you could never see and the planets you could never reach are yours-”

“- _Ours_ ,” Megatronus corrected. A genuine smile graced his expression. His helm turned to the skies, “Just as peace and equality- these constellations shall one day be ours.”

Orion Pax followed his gaze as he became overwhelmed by a familiar sensation that he couldn't explicitly define.

“Which constellation catches your eye, librarian?” Megatronus suddenly asked.

Surprised by the genuine inquiry, Orion focused back to the dark sky. He lifted his servo to briefly point in the relative direction of it.

“Atria,” he answered, simple and quick. "It is composed of the brightest of stars, however many Cybertronians either fail to look up and notice their intensity, or fail to look up at all."  
  
Megatronus didn’t ask any further questions. “Consider it yours,” he promised.

They stood there in silence among the stars- side by side.


	7. Retrograde

"After millennia of desolation beneath us, I would expect nothing short of _hatred_ from you, Prime," Megatron's graveled vocals elicited Optimus’s stare. 

Their varying optics met through the darkness of the cavern.

The intensity of those burning violet optics pierced straight through the Autobot leader. Despite his efforts to avert his gaze, Optimus discovered he was incapable of looking anywhere else. He approached the tyrant with caution in his strides. Even though only a few meters separated them- it still seemed as if the opposing leaders stood miles apart. 

"If memory serves, I do not recall ever truly hearing you say it. Tell me, Optimus. Do you hate me?" 

"Yes,” Optimus answered instantly. 

Their optics met.

“No,” he corrected himself.

There was a brief silence that Optimus regretted inviting. It made him feel weak under the livid stare of those violet optics. He gathered his thoughts, “Hatred is a lesser extent of how I feel about you, Megatron. Hate may satisfy you in ways I simply cannot comprehend, though it diminishes me and the ideals of my Autobots-"

"-Enough," Megatron dismissed through barred denta. "Your Autobot ideals are of no interest to me so spare me _that_ pitiful speech. You claim your Autobots to be saints and you to be a martyr, though you bear the same guilt from this war as I do."

"That may be true," Optimus agreed. "However, you and I possess far different measures of _coping._ While you wallow in the mere prospect of your succession in this war, I mourn the loss of our home, and of our comrades- whatever their affiliation."

Laughter, dry and mirthless, erupted as Optimus's words fell into silence. Megatron scorned him, "I do not dwell in the illusions of the past like you."

"Instead, you have lost yourself within the delusions of a twisted future," the Autobot leader interrupted. Although anger swelled in his throat, the words he spoke were otherwise calm and collected. The Prime was simply indecipherable. He always stood tall, towering even, with his broad shoulders locked and his strong arms resting at his narrow sides. Optimus possessed an unwavering support from his powerful frame. As menacing as the Autobot leader appeared, Megatron was hardly intimidated. "Megatron," Optimus warned. "You claim that I too bear the guilt of this war, though it is you who cast the shadow of destruction upon our world. Your delusions of peace through tyranny end here-"

A sense of panic quickly infiltrated all of Optimus's sensory nets as the impact of a strong shove was released against his own frame. 

Megatron's sharp brows furrowed as he questioned the Prime, "You think me the delusional one?" 

Despite the powerful shove intended to put space between them, Megatron found himself stepping back in. A threatening servo raised to thrust an accusing talon forward, "Your delusions of a future unburdened from this war with a society that is not plagued by division is naive. Cybertron _will_ remain a lifeless husk,” Megatron ridiculed. “So why stop now? Why not continue this until the flames of our very _sparks_ burn out?”

Optimus stepped in closer. He no longer intended to refrain, "We are capable of peace, Megatron. This is not about the Autobots nor the Decepticons. This concerns you and I alone. We have the potential to restore Cybertron together."

"I would rather see Cybertron remain a desolate wasteland for a _thousand_ millennia more than ever stand by you!" Megatron countered.

"Have you dared to look around?" the Prime's servos raised to gesture to the world around them. "This is where that kind of arrogance has landed us. We could leave this Earth- never to step upon its soil nor walk among its lifeforms- and return to our home."

"Cybertron is lost to us," the warlord snapped. He was eager to make his point, "I refuse to abandon the cause I have spent my entire life working toward. This?" Megatron mimicked the Prime's gesture. "This war is mine. By my very command it will prevail in _my_ favor." 

This time it was Optimus who passed the breaking point. The Autobot leader answered with rage burning in his stare, "You have been blinded and corrupted by power. The cause you once fought for is dead. You have already lost, Megatron!” 

Megatron grimaced, although Optimus continued before the tyrant could retaliate. His digits curled into fists and he brought them forward.

"I offer peace time and time again. Why deny me this?” he demanded to know. 

Deep violet optics circled with a profuse anger. Megatron remained silent as he collected his thoughts before he stepped forward. Optimus instinctively retreated to maintain a more familiar distance. 

Megatron analyzed his movements before questioning him, "Why is it so important to you that I assist you in reviving that blasted planet? You could easily have terminated me eons ago. You could easily do it right _now_. Yet, you persistently demand peace. Why?"

Optimus swallowed deeply. He felt his throat swell with ideas he didn't know how to express to the warlord. He slowly began to explain, "Despite this war- despite what has been lost- I still possess some measure of hope knowing neither of us have ever truly dedicated ourselves to destroying each other."

Megatron huffed, "Hopeful until the end."

"Tell me that I am wrong," Optimus challenged. This time, he stepped in closer. "Tell me you want me dead. Tell me that you do not recall all of the moments that you had me beneath you- ready for the heat of your cannon or the sting of your sword through my spark. Tell me why you continue to spare me, and I will tell you the same."

The intense heat of Megatron's cannon fused online. He aimed at the center of Optimus's chassis. Megatron's entire servo trembled with rage. "Do not think me so weak as to refuse your demise, Prime. I _will_ end you."

"Say it, Megatron," Optimus repeated, more aggressive than before. His servos moved to grasp Megatron's fusion cannon. His thin digits dug into the burning metal as he challenged Megatron. "Tell me that you want me dead!"

Megatron shoved the canon against Optimus's chassis, "I want you dead!" he exclaimed. 

"Then do it!" 

Megatron let out a roar. Optimus waited anxiously for the sensation of the plasma to rip his armor apart, but the blow never came. Megatron slightly retracted his weapon to the side and shot his cannon into the air once, twice, then three times. 

Debris settled in the atmosphere of the small cavern. Its walls trembled from the impact of the three powerful blasts. Through the dust and darkness, violet optics fixed on those of azure. The silence that followed said it all. 

Optimus felt that he had proved his point.


	8. Golden Hour I

Iacon was an eventful polity, although it too eventually succumbed to nautical twilight. Distant paned windows supplied the lounge with a generous atmosphere of golden rays. Lavender and emerald hues were slowly exchanged for midnight skies as the night settled. Most Cybertronians resorted to their personal living quarters by now. Orion Pax, however, had a long day. He sat alone at the bar. High-grade was hardly his usual remedy for a difficult day, although his earlier endeavors proved strenuous enough to coax quite a few drinks from the librarian.

Megatronus paid a visit to the apartment complex in hopes of discussing the details of the day. He noticed the librarian instantly upon his arrival, and was admittedly surprised to see him at the bar so late. The gladiator approached him, “Long day?” 

Orion addressed his company with a gentle hum, “Unusually so, and yourself?” 

The gladiator understood the reciprocated interest was an invitation to join, so he took a seat next to the archivist. Megatronus gestured to the bartender as he answered, “I am well. I understand you spoke with Alpha Trion?”

The archivist sighed, “Yes. It was quite an underwhelming meeting. I regret to inform you that he refused my request.” 

Two fresh cubes of high-grade were displayed before them. Orion was already buzzed. Megatronus determined that from the uncharacteristic slur of his words and the distinct scent of high-grade that embodied the librarian. 

Megatronus tasted his cube before he expressed his support, “Regardless, I assure you that your hard work will provide us with the progression we seek. I am truly inspired by your unwavering determination to this cause.” 

Orion drank from the spiked energon as he listened. His fist slowly brought the cube down and he finally looked up to Megatronus, “I sincerely apologize, my friend. I admit I am discouraged, as I predicted that my request would be compelling enough for approval. It is rather unfortunate to drink to failure.” 

Those azure optics were dense with emotions, and their luminosity was only intensified by intoxication. Megatronus had never before witnessed the archivist in such a state, so he dedicated the night to lifting his spirits. 

“Then let us instead drink to your success,” Megatronus proposed. He lifted his cube to initiate a toast, “Success is achieved through consistency and perseverance. You exhibited both today, old friend.” 

Orion guided his own cube to the toast as he grinned, “I suppose you are right. Did you come here bearing news for me, Megatronus? 

“Ah, yes,” the gladiator acknowledged after they finished their cubes. “It can wait. Tonight is not for work,” he decided. 

Orion Pax nodded. In response, he requested two fresh cubes of high-grade. Meanwhile, he asked Megatronus about his most recent trip to Iacon. The courteous inquiry was simple enough to spark an eventful chain of conversations.

After each round of drinks, their conversations deepened and the periodic jokes became hysterical. The lounge resonated with their vocals when they laughed together. They talked for hours, exchanging beliefs and sharing stories. At some point, Megatronus allowed himself to rest his servo comfortably on the bar close to where Orion propped the joint of his elbow as he spoke. They remained like that for quite some time as they engaged in several debates that eventually strayed from politics and delved into a more personal realm. 

Orion Pax was ecstatic from the pleasant buzz he experienced as he tuned in to the story Megatronus narrated with electrifying detail. His humor was casual and intellectual, therefore had quite an effect on Orion Pax. 

Megatronus recognized the strong waves that emanated from the archivist’s EM field. It was nearly impossible to ignore the pleasant energy that radiated from Orion Pax as he laughed. 

Thin digits reached forward to rest on the strut of Megatronus’s knee as his laugh softened. The embrace was innocent in its nature, yet Megatronus found himself leaning into it as they exchanged their laughter for a comfortable silence. They unknowingly shifted closer to each other throughout the night, and the distance they discovered was more intimate than ever before. 

Orion’s intakes hitched in his chassis as he felt the gladiator’s palm clasp the strut of his elbow to gently urge him closer. Then, large digits brushed against the heated plating so tenderly that Orion may have mistaken the touch as a caress. He was also surprised to learn that he eagerly welcomed the embrace. 

Neither of them spoke. Azure optics simply began to explore each other. Orion Pax was curious. Megatronus was captivated. 

The atmosphere was dense with tension as they preserved the silence for much longer than either anticipated. 

Neither of them moved, until Orion found himself leaning in. As he inched forward, his lips began to part. Megatronus watched him, motionless. He would have closed the space between them had he not gathered his senses. 

“It is getting late,” Megatronus whispered. 

Orion Pax was close enough to feel the heat of those words against his mouth before he disengaged. As the archivist withdrew, he blinked a few times and nodded slowly as if stunned by the sudden rejection. 

“Of course,” Orion agreed with bated breath. He understood the situation, despite the embarrassment that crept in. He began to stand, although Megatronus supposed it took a grand effort to refrain from stumbling. 

Orion Pax was drunk. Megatronus knew that. Certainly that was the only reason he refused to meet such a chaste embrace. Regardless, the noble librarian composed himself as he prepared to end the night with no intention of asking.

“Thank you for the company tonight,” Orion acknowledged with a small grin. “The drinks are on me.” 

The archivist left before Megatronus could even collect the words for a response. He sat there in silence as he reflected. Only a row of empty cubes glowed from the counter to reveal the progression of the night. Soon they were all that remained at the bar, for Megatronus eventually left to follow in pursuit of the archivist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II will be posted tomorrow!


	9. Golden Hour II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: this is mildly explicit!

Incessant rings echoed through the archivist’s living quarters to announce a visitor. It was Megatronus who stood beyond the walls of his residence. A single servo pounded on the ringer with a desperation that was remarkable. Megatronus had no explanation to spare Orion Pax, and he might have been too intoxicated to try. He couldn’t explain exactly what compelled him to go there after that shared moment at the bar.

While the gladiator tried to convince himself that it was simply a consequence of their drinking, he couldn’t help his mind from racing. So, he eventually found himself there waiting for Orion to answer the door to his home.

Soon enough, the door shifted open.

Orion looked concerned, yet some aspect of his expression indicated that he was relieved to see the gladiator again. Transfixed, he paused in the door, waiting for his guest to justify his arrival considering the late hour. Nothing was said, perhaps because they both already knew why he was there. 

Time suddenly seemed slow. It may have just been the effects of high-grade, but both of them sensed the change. 

Their optics examined each other in silence before Megatronus took initiative by stepping forward. The archivist encouraged the gladiator by using his nimble servos to guide him closer. Strong, steady servos lifted Orion Pax from his pedes to straddle him close to his frame. The distance between them closed as Megatronus pressed forward to catch Orion’s mouth with his own. The librarian met him with eager lips that deepened the kiss. Their gaze met once their lips disconnected only to come back together with a more fierce passion. 

This was foreign territory. Still, neither of them stopped to consider the repercussions. It felt almost natural to discover such intimacy together.

Each kiss elicited sighs that escaped the pair and sweetly intoxicated the atmosphere of the residence. The gladiator guided them to the nearest wall for support. A single servo easily held Orion’s light frame by his thighs while his other servo explored seams and crevices down the arch of his dorsal plating. Orion must have appreciated the touch, for his intakes hitched remarkably and his cooling fans ripped online. The soft heat of Orion’s silver abdomen met with Megatronus’s sturdy plating as their frames ached to find closeness. 

Narrow digits tightly grasped either side of Megatronus’s sharp helm with a desperation that fueled every movement the gladiator made. Their mouths met with an unexplainable intensity. Every kiss revealed a gentle passion. The name of the gladiator escaped his lips as their foreheads met. The sound of that monotone inspired Megatronus’s own cooling fans to roar online. Orion’s soft azure optics circled with a modest ecstasy that Megatronus dedicated to memory.

Megatronus adjusted his unrelenting grip on Orion’s thighs as he pulled him away from the wall to guide them to Orion’s quarters. His half-lidded gaze lingered on those lips until they entered the room. Orion gasped as his back met the sheets of his cot before his lips found the gladiator again. As the night progressed, their mouths moved to place kisses in several different places as they became familiar with each other’s touch. The pace they established together was sensual enough to inspire Orion to press for more. 

His thin digits clasped the center of Megatronus’s chest in a silent request to open. Their optics met in a haze of desire. Megatronus gripped the librarian’s servo with his own and kissed it swiftly. It took an incredible effort to restrain himself from indulging.

“Not yet,” the gladiator sternly refused, although his frame was hot to touch. “Open for me when you are sober.” 

Orion Pax nodded, “Then stay until morning.” 

The suggestion was firm and confident enough to be a demand, although Megatronus admitted he felt no reason to deny Orion. So, he simply leaned in for another open-mouthed kiss. 

While the night proved to be delightful in the most unexpected way possible, Megatronus suddenly found himself looking forward to the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have too much fun with them. I may post more explicit content in the future!


	10. Darkest Hour

_< Megatron is here! We cannot advance.> _

Orion stopped in his tracks and felt his spark become heavy. His dorsal plating abruptly met the wall. His shallow breaths stalled in his chassis as he processed the news. Megatron was there?

Eons passed since he last saw Megatron. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to be reunited under such circumstances.

_ <Disengage! Disengage! We don’t stand a chance against Megatron!> _

The voices of his allies echoed over the communications link as Orion gathered himself. His mind worked quickly to devise a plan before he opened a private channel to Ultra Magnus and Ratchet.

“No,” Orion stated. “We are too close. The relic must be secured.”

_ <It cannot be done! Megatron will obliterate our troops. Fall back, Orion Pax!> _

“I will distract him,” the archivist confidently assured Ratchet. “Guide the others to his reinforcements. Retrieve the relic, while I stall their leader.”

_ <Nonsense. It will be a quick fight. Megatron has never been defeated. Follow my command, soldier.> _

Despite the order from Ultra Magnus, Orion followed the heat signature provided by his allies to track Megatron. Adrenaline muted the warnings that Ultra Magnus expressed through the comm link as he ran through the halls with his weapons ready and engaged.

Orion hoped that his commanding officer heeded his request, as he finally faced the leader of the Decepticons for the first time. Megatron stood tall, some meters away, striding with ease toward the archivist. He was not even armed. Orion found that measure of confidence unsettling. He paused to maintain a safe distance between them. Any closer would have ensured his demise.

Except Megatron was not full of spite. He was genuinely surprised to see the archivist there, considering he had not seen him since the High Council meeting. All ties were severed then, for their dynamic suffered an ultimate awakening. Orion Pax suggested peace through order. Megatron demanded peace through tyranny. It quickly became apparent that the vision they once spent endless nights conspiring was perceived too differently between them.

“Orion Pax,” Megatron acknowledged. His tone hummed lowly, “I presumed you would be organizing documents at the Hall of Records, but a foot soldier?”

Orion exhaled. He collected himself as he prepared to stall, “What are you doing here, Megatron?”

It was the first time he addressed his old friend in such a manner. The tyrant huffed. His expression contorted into a scowl, “I could ask the same of you. What inspired you to witness first hand another victory of my Decepticons?” His scowl darkened, “Do not tell me you are here to interfere.”

Orion steadied his blade, “I cannot allow you to proceed.”

His stance did not falter, even though Megatron’s threatening demeanor invited an alien fear in the archivist. He was used to fighting Megatron in the gladiatorial arenas, and often excelled in that domain. Their sparring was relentless and intense, but Orion never imagined genuinely taking on the champion. He was inexperienced compared to Megatron, despite the skills he acquired during his training. The former gladiator certainly helped him master many techniques, but Orion knew he did not teach him everything. The war for Cybertron proved Orion was a formidable opponent against other Decepticon soldiers in battle, but facing their leader was ambitious.

Megatron did not engage, however. He was admittedly inspired by the archivist’s courage. He simply paced forward, “We both know the relic lies just beyond these walls. Why not retrieve it together? If memory serves, we were quite efficient as a team.”

Orion was stunned by the proposition. He had a hard time believing it was genuine. Manipulation was Megatron's forte. His brows arched against his azure stare, “I am afraid that will not happen. I am not here to negotiate an alliance.”

Megatron answered, “Then you are here to die.”

He unsheathed his weapon and approached the librarian with a calm intensity. Orion prepared to meet his stride by engaging his protective face mask. The metal shifted into place just as their blades met. The impact pushed Orion back, although he retaliated with an agile strike. They exchanged hits with an established rhythm that was almost nostalgic, yet incredibly new. Never before had they sparred with the intention to kill.

Megatron dominated him. His weapon was heavier and his stamina was unrelenting. Orion tired much faster, but he refused to surrender.

Their blades collided in a powerful movement. Megatronus pressed into his sword, and Orion struggled to balance the weight. He was exhausted from the fight. As their blades shifted and trembled, the tyrant caught his gaze.

“Join me,” he suggested briefly. There was almost a hint of desperation in those two words. “Otherwise you will perish.”

Heavy exhales heaved from Orion’s chassis. His shallow ventilations steadied as he focused. His azure stare reflected his concern, “Then I shall die an Autobot.” 

Despite their varying sizes, former gladiator and former archivist, they seemed to balance each other in that breathless moment.

_ <Orion Pax- the relic has been secured by the Autobots. Rendezvous at the coordinates provided.> _

Ratchet’s accent soothed Orion in a haze of victory. However, Megatron grimaced as the realization of his loss became facile to his apprehension. He understood now that Orion Pax presented himself as a distraction, and was furious that it worked. He didn’t particularly care for being deceived. His brows furrowed deeply against his crimson stare, “It seems I failed to anticipate deception from you, Orion. A mistake that I shall never again make.”

A swift strike followed his warning, and the archivist found himself on his knees. He surrendered his blade to support his weight on the ground and one of his servos fixed on his abdomen. The metallic flesh burned from the exposure to the atmosphere as it poured liters of energon. Frantic, Orion’s optics tightly shut to ignore the systematic warnings that displayed across his vision. He groaned loudly. Initially the pain was intense, although the adrenaline that coursed through his charged circuits prevented him from recognizing the severity of the wound.

This was it.

Megatron stood above him now. He sensed the heat of that notorious canon fuse online against the nape of his neck.

He failed to terminate his enemy. The swiftness and ease of the attack led Orion Pax to the conclusion that Megatron was simply entertaining him before. Only the success of the mission provided him comfort in his last moments of consciousness. He knew the Autobot cause would prevail without him.

Orion solemnly accepted his fate. However, the blow never came. He only heard that familiar voice ring in his audio feed.

“You have proved that your wits are powerful, but you still have much to learn if you ever hope to best me in combat. I will destroy you when you are a worthy opponent,” Megatron declared. “Or I shall wait for you to choose your rightful place by my side.”

With that, the tyrant exited the halls without so much as a trace. Although his skills in battle were admittedly subpar, Megatron recognized that Orion Pax had potential, and therefore was a valuable asset. His mental capacity alone could provide a significant advantage for the Decepticons. Megatron wasn’t typically merciful, but he spared the archivist.

Perhaps next time he won’t be so generous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a kink for these losers fighting. I'd like to thank each and everyone of you for your support! I will keep updating (:


	11. Trade

Earth succumbed to nightfall just as the opposing leaders met. Optimus formally arranged the meeting, and waited patiently for Megatron to arrive at the designated coordinates. The remote location was beyond the traceable reach of Autobots and Decepticons alike. It was not their first time hosting a meeting there in confidentiality, either. 

Optimus’s gaze took to the midnight skies in anticipation of Megatron’s arrival. For a while, he rested against a boulder on a makeshift seat and only began to stand once he recognized the heat signature of a familiar jet as it soared above. Megatron transformed upon landing some meters away, and Optimus met his stride. 

“I presume you took precaution in your journey,” Optimus insinuated, in the event that he was followed. He admittedly preferred ground travel, as the human military and certain Decepticons proved excellent at tracking flight patterns. 

Megatron did not answer. His eyes were eager, teeth keen as they appeared in a deranged grin. That expression placed a weary edge on Optimus, and in response he shifted uncomfortably. 

“I understand you are here to propose an armistice?” Megatron questioned, although the genuine nature of the inquiry seemed feigned. 

“Not necessarily,” Optimus answered honestly. His weapon remained fixed by his side as he presumed a defensive stance. 

Megatron huffed. His expression fell at the sight of the Prime’s charged cannon. He approached the Prime with a confidence that clearly put the Autobot leader on edge.

“Then tell me, Optimus,” Megatron began as his strides brought him almost too close for comfort. “What occasion brings me the pleasure of your company?” 

The question was dry with sarcasm, but it hardly bothered Optimus. He went straight to the point, not quite distracted by Megatron’s feigned charm. Optimus shifted on his heels as an uncertain expression settled his stare. 

“I am here to propose a trade,” he revealed. 

Megatron hummed. Genuine intrigue bared his expression. He certainly had the warlord’s attention. 

“Go on,” Megatron encouraged. 

Optimus specified, “An energon trade.” 

That seemed to peak Megatron’s interest, although he no longer seemed to be all that surprised. This was not the first time Optimus reached out to Megatron in hopes of establishing mutual trade. The Autobots often suffered from substantially low energon reserves, for they struggled to compete against the vast army of Decepticon miners. In comparison, the Autobots simply lacked the technology.

Megatron answered, “I assure you that my reserves are quite sufficient. I am afraid I cannot help you this time.”

“On the contrary,” Optimus reasoned with the dismissive warlord as he turned to walk. He gestured beyond them into the meek cavern below. Megatron seemed skeptical, although his curiosity guided him to eventually follow in pursuit.

Some ways into the cavern, Optimus unearthed a significant supply of dark energon. The vibrant crystals in their raw form expelled a dense energy in a shroud of violet. Silence enveloped them, however the whispers of the Chaos Bringer were distinct to Megatron. 

The warlord was admittedly taken aback by the nature of the proposition. His violet optics flared as his stare focused on Optimus. “You must be desperate to drive such a bargain,” Megatron concluded.

It was not a difficult inference. Optimus notoriously advised against the exploitation of dark energon. However, it was no secret that the Autobots were losing. Perhaps desperation was his only available outlet. Megatron was delighted to recognize his superiority in the situation. His slanted smirk revealed that much. 

Still, Optimus appeared collected as if this were an ordinary exchange. It was simply business. “I believe this will suffice in exchange for refined energon,” he insisted. 

They stood before the blood of Unicron together. The haunted whispers and sighs of the lavender crystals emanated through the isolated chambers of the cavern. The essence was powerful enough to intoxicate any Cybertronian from such a distance. Megatron spent quite some time building an immunity, as he consistently manipulated the substance. Optimus was not so fortunate. Due to his inexperience, it took him months to mine the crystals and he required many frequent breaks. It was an exhausting project that he did entirely alone. Optimus was also extraordinarily susceptible to the toxicity of dark energon because he possessed the Matrix of Leadership. The pure energy within the Matrix vastly differed from the dark energon that engulfed Megatron’s spark.

Primus ruled Optimus. Unicron influenced Megatron. 

The mining project was indeed desperate in nature, although Optimus strived to supply his Autobots with energon at any cost. If he could successfully arrange a trade for dark energon, he determined he was willing to face the inevitable consequences afterward. He knew he would face Megatron in battle soon, and the warlord would be especially merciless. That sacrifice ultimately came with reward. His Autobots would have energon. 

Dark energon made Megatron stronger in ways Optimus could not fathom. While the Matrix of Leadership was a vessel of immense powerful energy, it did not bestow Optimus extreme strength or abilities. He trained for relentless eons during the war for Cybertron to build stamina and accrue skills to become a formidable leader, for he once began as an archivist in the frame of a Prime. He was unable to determine whether dark energon gifted Megatron such strength, or if the rage it inspired simply unveiled his true abilities. 

“Your leadership is commendable,” Megatron commented. He acknowledged what this trade truly meant for Optimus, and believed that he too would resort to such extremes to ensure the success of his own troops. “Though, it is a shame that you exhaust yourself for an unworthy cause.”

Optimus looked to Megatron, “Then we have a deal?” 

He promptly offered his servo in anticipation that Megatron would return the gesture. The warlord slowly approached him with a menacing glower. Those jaded violet optics circled with hunger. Finally, his larger servo extended and his talons clasped around Optimus’s thin digits in a firm embrace. 

“Consider it so,” Megatron assured. He opened the private communications link between them and logged in new coordinates. “Meet me here for your prized energon, and bring your trailer.”


	12. Winter

Optimus lingered in the aftermath of the frigid storm. His optics frosted with the chill of winter winds. Flurries fell to the soil of what was once the crown jewel of Cybertron. Vos was reduced to nothing short of a wasteland. The war for Cybertron was a lot like the storm. Both were cold and numbing.

Shivers traveled through his aching frame as calm winds crawled through the once glorious polity. In many ways, the war was indeed like the storm, Optimus realized.

There was calm before the storm. There was peace.

Optimus stood under the steady rain of snow as it erupted from lavender skies. He was restless. Even as the winter solstice came and passed, Optimus never found solace. His mind was kept busy. Preoccupied by the memory of Vos in its prime.

Crystalline skyscrapers and magnificent arenas disguised the crippling political corruption of the polity. Vos was notorious for monopolising resources, just as any great city-state. Their aerial armada was highly respected, although their ambition to conquer Cybertron surrendered Vos to eons of warfare and inevitably led to its fatal destruction.

The winds of winter shook the skeletons of delicate skyscrapers, and they collapsed before him. The soil bore debris and hosted fires that appeared significantly bright in contrast to the cool hues of snow and sleet that persisted from the raging storms.

Optimus was built for the heat. His spark was forged under the embrace of the sun during the summer solstice on Cybertron. His very essence thrived in the hottest of the temperate seasons. Naturally, Optimus longed for warmth when the cooler seasons reigned. Still, he appreciated the serenity of winter. The season offered a calmness.

Long ago, he recalled the winter he once spent in Vos with Megatronus. They traveled there to rally allies for their cause, and on accounts of business. It was there that Megatronus was introduced to Starscream, his eventual second in command during the War for Cybertron.

The city was fuming with life at the time. All inclusive events occupied the streets, and the traffic was diverse. Thus, Vos easily became one of the only places on Cybertron where Orion Pax and Megatronus did not seem like such an odd pair. Cybertronians traveled from all over the planet to attend the extraordinary events hosted in Vos whether for business or leisure. For Orion and Megatronus, it turned out to be both.

Despite the bitter coldness of that particular season, Optimus remembered he didn’t ever wish for the heat to return. He endured the entire winter season with Megatronus. It didn’t seem right to even compare that season to this one.

This winter was simply unforgiving. Optimus actually looked forward to its termination.

The storms that rummaged the desolate polity raged on for centuries, it seemed. Although for just one moment, as Optimus reflected on the history of Vos and the experiences he cherished, the storm resided. The war was like this in many ways, too. There were often moments where peace truly seemed attainable.

Optimus could only hope that there would be an end to the war, just as there was calm after the storm.


	13. The Alliance

Bright headlights of a semi beamed against the aimless dirt roads that coursed through the deserts of Nevada. As the sun set beneath the crimson horizon, Optimus presumed vehicle mode and ventured into the night. His wheels raced against the unpaved path as he approached a familiar location well beyond the reach of both Autobot and Decepticon traces. A secure and desolate cavern stretching many miles away from reality was where he and Megatron met many times prior. Their meetings remained private, and went unnoticed by either faction.

During his drive, Optimus reflected on their last meeting. It was different from all of the others in the sense that it was almost pleasant. Most meetings consisted of detailed and often heated arguments concerning the scarcity of energon on Earth. Their last meeting, however, was of foreign terrain.

The past.

Megatron typically denied Optimus the fulfillment of discussing certain elements of their past. Megatron preferred to leave it well enough alone. However, they both found themselves reminiscing their once promising dynamic.

The Autobot leader drove faster than he ever had before. Optimus believed that a significant change could come from their uncharacteristically civilized behavior. That was enough to inspire him, so he set out in hopes to inspire the warlord, too.

* * *

Megatron paced forward. He was admittedly eager to meet Optimus that evening. The setting sun revealed Earth’s golden hour, and Megatron basked in the rays of powdered gold until the skies softened with violet. The Decepticon warlord detected the low hum of an approaching semi truck. Optimus transformed with ease as he traded his speeding wheels for legs that walked. His arrival was met by Megatron’s gesture. Their hands met in a firm embrace.  
  
“I trust your journey was as swift as mine,” Megatron greeted.  
  
“Indeed it was. Shall we get started?” Optimus suggested.  
  
They entered the remote cavern and walked for what may have been several kilometres until they arrived in a vast space decorated with lanterns and previously utilized technology designed for tracing energon and decoding ancient files. After a brief silence, Optimus moved his servos to a hidden compartment.  
  
He hesitated, "I brought these.”  
  
In each of his palms rested a delicate cube of energon. Megatron seemed skeptical.   
  
"I have stored a low, although significant, private high-grade reserve for quite some time," Optimus explained as he offered the cube to the warlord.  
  
Megatron stepped in much closer, and Optimus instinctively found himself inching back. Their optics locked.  
  
"And I am worthy company?" Megatron questioned. His raspy vocals were low.  
  
Optimus felt chills dominate his sensory net as talons lightly clasped around his own digits. The cube of high grade seemed significantly smaller next to Megatron's larger servo. Optimus brought his attention back to the warlord. Megatron's crimson stare bore straight into his own azure optics.  
  
The Prime swallowed his hesitation, "Yes. It has been quite some time since we have last shared a drink."  
  
Megatron had to laugh, and Optimus swore he mistook some aspect of that laugh to be mirthful. The warlord grinned, although it was crooked and scarred. It was still a sight that was foreign to Optimus.  
  
"Some time," the warlord repeated with a genuine laugh. "Some four million years, to be more precise."  
  
“I simply put it lightly,” Optimus offered the cube again with a gentle push of his wrist against Megatron's. The warlord didn't argue, instead he finally took it. Megatron turned on his heel to find a seat. Optimus followed, caution ghosting his slow strides. The Autobot leader continued, “I assume you recall our most recent field encounter? Your Decepticon army well outnumbered my Autobots and-”  
  
Megatron huffed lowly before he interrupted, “You truly wish to discuss matters of war? Here I was expecting to enjoy your company.”  
  
Optimus almost smiled, but his stiff expression denied Megatron the sight of such a genuine reaction. He simply came closer, standing with both servos grasping his cube while Megatron rested himself comfortably on a makeshift seat. He placed the struts of his elbows on his knees as he leaned into the conversation. Optimus took a moment to explain himself, “I am curious as to your brief retreat. It allowed my Autobots to confiscate enough energon to last several breems.”  
  
Following Optimus’s inquiry, Megatron took a rather decent drink from his high grade which only put Optimus’s curiosity further in flames. Megatron ran his glossa against the back of his sharp denta in thought, “I received intel from my commanding officer that a larger deposit was sighted further North. It was an opportunity I couldn’t possibly ignore, as I’m sure you understand.”  
  
Optimus hummed softly, not quite convinced. “I see,” he answered calmly before taking a drink of his own to ease his thoughts. His mind was busy with curiosity, and he refused to let it settle without honest answers. He shifted a bit as his mind stirred on Megatron’s response. He carefully studied Megatron.  
  
“A previous conversation here does suggest that Decepticon miners already cleared the North. There is nothing more than rubble and debris in the deposits stretching across the northern reserves. I observed them myself to confirm my suspicion,” Optimus explained. He suspected that Megatron had ulterior motives for retreating, but desired confirmation. He anticipated something of a confession. However, the warlord simply sipped from his cube. His servos then stretched out in a shrug that revealed he was caught in his own fable, but he admitted nothing directly.  
  
“Perhaps it was the South,” Megatron briefly corrected himself. Optimus frowned visibly, but disregarded the irritation that threatened to cloud his judgment. Those azure optics felt heavy on his expression, yet Megatron continued to deflect.  
  
“Perhaps it was,” Optimus agreed. “It would be bold of me to assume that your retreat had any significant relation to a certain previous conversation regarding my infinitely low energon reserves."

Megatron grinded his denta together and pressed his glossa against the palate of his mouth. His crimson stare faltered elsewhere in the cavern as he appeared deep in thought. Optimus felt he may have struck a nerve in the warlord, and it was all too tempting to press further. Megatron replied, “It would indeed be quite bold of you to expect such a grand gesture from me.”  
  
Optimus hummed in response, “Whatever reasons you may have for sparing those reserves is greatly appreciated. I am truly in your debt.”  
  
Megatron watched as Optimus put his fine lips against his cube of high grade. His crimson optics narrowed as they focused, “Based on the generous celebratory gift, it seems as though you determined my intentions before you arrived here. So, I may have wasted breath convincing you otherwise.”  
  
Optimus nodded, “I have reason to believe what I have concluded.”  
  
Megatron placed the cube of high grade down, “Do enlighten me.”  
  
Optimus figured Megatron was being insincere in that remark, but as he met Megatron’s gaze he noticed a genuine expression in those narrow optics that he could only recognize as eager.  
  
“Each engagement prior to this one have been relatively civil. You have shown acts of tolerance toward the Autobots that I have not witnessed through the entirety of this war. Even the most recent field encounter was rendered brief as you pulled back your forces and granted the Autobots a rather rich energon deposit,” Optimus explained with substantial reasoning. “Our last meeting we discussed far more than matters of war,” he hesitated. He was cautious in choosing his words. “It became personal. I do not know if this may have inspired your actions, although it seems our dynamic has changed.” His servos moved with his deep monotone as he spoke. Megatron always noticed Optimus’s tendency to express himself through his gestures. Megatron’s red optics flashed as they focused on the Autobot leader. He listened intently to those deep vocals as they resonated through the cavern’s atmosphere.  
  
Megatron simply leaned forward, “Reminiscing about the past does not change the future.”  
  
Optimus wore a stern expression on his faceplates and he leaned forward to meet Megatron’s stare. “Though it might influence it,” he argued.  
  
In just those few words, Megatron detected that deep rooted sense of hope that once radiated from the Prime. Megatron leaned back casually again, taking another drink. The luminescent content of the cube swiftly took its effect on Megatron. His helm felt a pleasant static rush through it and his frame no longer felt heavy or worn down by millennia of warfare.  
  
“You are relentless, Optimus. It was a trait I once admired,” Megatron admitted. “Now it is irritating to no end.”  
  
Optimus felt his spark pulse with emotions so long forgotten that they felt foreign as they rushed in his frame. His fine lips arched into something of a smile, “As I once admired your honesty. Things change.”  
  
Megatron let out a hefty exvent, “As many things do. Besides, you were once a data clerk who was so eager to please.”  
  
Optimus nodded in acknowledgement. He sipped on his high grade before retaliating, “You were once an honorable gladiator.”  
  
Megatron bantered casually, “Well, define honorable.”  
  
Optimus couldn’t help but laugh. It was brief and almost inaudible, closer to a series of deep sighs, but Megatron caught it and was admittedly surprised. Even millennia ago, it was incredibly difficult to draw any measure of laughter from the once stern archivist.  
  
“I do suppose that we have different ideas of what is honorable,” Optimus finally replied.  
  
Megatron hummed low in his throat, “Tell me yours.”  
  
It was almost a command, but Optimus found he was eager to comply. He slowly sipped more of that intoxicating energon in thought before he began, “You did not slaughter your opponents in the arena for the satisfaction of gaining political advantages as the gladiators among you did. You earned your status through your knowledge of the system and how you exploited it. That made you powerful,” Optimus explained. “Along with that power came significance in a caste system designed to deny you a higher station.”  
  
Megatron drank from his cube as he listened. The intense flavor of the high grade was intoxicating. One cube was far more than enough to alter their senses. Both of the leaders downed nearly half of the cube in the time they’d spent together so far and the effects were already settling in. Megatron felt more of that pleasant static swarm his processor and felt his limbs give way to the high grade’s potency.  
  
“I earned my legacy,” Megatron announced proudly. His free servo moved to place a tight fist to the center of his chassis. “I spent my life in the very pits of Kaon to gain what was simply given to you by birthright. I fought to raise my station- to have my voice heard and my legacy known.”  
  
“Your legacy was once honorable. It has unfortunately been warped to resemble that of the Fallen Prime,” Optimus suggested, bitterly. “It exists to inspire chaos, fear, and hatred- no longer the greatness and equality for which you once strived. A raw exploitation of power that inspires destruction.”  
  
Megatron took a long taste of his high grade before responding, “I appealed to those who endured oppression. I challenged them to make something out of nothing. I did not invite hatred and fear into the minds of those willing to listen to me. It was already there. The chaos that came along was inevitable."  
  
Optimus frowned, “Perhaps, but was it necessary that such chaos resulted in the demolition of our home?”  
  
Megatron grimaced. He was no longer able to suppress his physical expressions. “Cybetron deserved nothing less! The Cybertron I have envisioned must be revised with only respectable intentions.”  
  
Optimus processed Megatron’s words, “And what are your intentions?” He couldn’t seem to filter that blatant question. It slipped from his glossa as quickly as it formed in his mind. Megatron seemed to take no offense. His answer was quick and simple.  
  
“I intend to rebuild Cybertron with you.”  
  
Optimus felt his intakes slow once silence settled between the leaders. He shifted slowly, letting his forearms take position on his thigh plating as he remained deep in thought. His processor suddenly drowned in an overwhelming wave of ideas and questions, new and abandoned, that rose to the surface.  
  
“You have not expressed interest in such a concept in a very long time.” His features became very serious. “Why now?”  
  
Just one question spoken so softly in that monotone. Megatron couldn’t bear the sound of it. His large digits curled into fists and he turned his gaze away from the Prime. Despite all of the questions, Optimus found that he wanted nothing more than eye contact in that moment. He longed for reassurance, although Megatron deflected for another moment before he decided to stand. His free servo searched for a small device that attached to his dorsal plating. His talons curled around the device and held it loosely in his grasp as he took a few grand strides forward. Optimus watched with fully engaged optics, anticipating Megatron’s next move. The warlord tossed the device to the ground of the cavern. As it made contact with the earth, the device became a vibrant azure beacon for a hologram of a distant Cybertron. White licks of energy dispersed through the cavern as the realistic hologram of Cybertron began its stationary orbit.  
  
At the sight of the lively hologram, Optimus moved to his own pedes. He was admittedly awe stricken, Megatron noticed, although he tried to keep his gaze forward.  
  
“Cybertron is merely a concept, not a place. Consider this project to be in phase one.”  
  
Despite the glorious hologram of their home, Optimus found his stare locked on Megatron. “It would take quite some time for a project of such great magnitude,” the Prime mentioned.  
  
Megatron hummed, “You and I have quite the past. There have been endless opportunities to extinguish each other’s sparks, yet we relent. While often I fixate on the rewards of such an accomplishment, I naturally seem to convince myself otherwise. I keep you alive. Time and time again.”  
  
Optimus related, “Destroying each other would only result in further peril.”  
  
Megatron agreed, “No matter how satisfying it would be. It has taken much speculation to come to this. Each of our previous meetings have offered significant benefits for each faction. I am confident now that this is the answer,” he gestured to the hologram.  
  
Optimus admired the depths of the hologram as he approached Megatron. He stood much closer to the warlord’s side now. As he stood still, his servo reached to place his palm against the back of Megatron’s servo. The touch only lingered for a moment before his thin digits subconsciously guided his palm even lower to clasp Megatron’s broad forearm. He felt that intense heat radiate from Megatron’s fusion cannon as his servo comfortably rested there. Megatron turned his helm slightly to look at Optimus. He committed to memory every detail of Optimus’s luminous expression. His smooth features were ridden with a certain joy that was calm and collected. The warlord knew that in this moment, they were not two opposing leaders of a perpetual war.  
  
For the first time in millennia, Megatron sensed that he was in the presence of a worthy ally.


	14. Legacy

Skyscrapers collided much faster than anticipated as bombs erupted from the soil of their home world and fires soared deep into its vast skies. Amidst the trembling buildings, the opposing leaders engaged in passionate combat. Their weapons clashed as each powerful strike collided. They battled through the ruins of the burning skyscrapers of Iacon. Shards of metal and debris fell like rain above their heads as they fought with vigor and unyielding animosity. 

Megatron met the fierce edge of Optimus’s blade with his fusion cannon and fired without hesitation. Optimus evaded the blast with the careful guidance of his sword and retaliated with a sharp jab. His blade barely met Megatron’s chassis, but he managed to successfully pierce the armor. The strategic defense was deep enough to elicit a stream of cool blue energon.

The warlord was fuming, although he persisted despite the severity of the wound. He was relentless. Every move was inspired by rage. Sparring became an obsession once Optimus proved himself a worthy opponent by becoming a Prime. It consumed Megatron. He claimed it to be his very destiny to destroy the last of the Primes so that he may rise to rule Cybertron unchallenged. Optimus was consumed as well. He desired to eliminate the threat of the Decepticon faction. Megatron was its head, therefore it was his fate to die. 

At that moment, they were both determined to succeed.

Fire surrounded the pair as the last walls of the building began to cave in. However, their fight never ceased. Their environment was too fragile to sustain even a single blast, so they both knew to retire their weapons for limbs. Both leaders were skilled in the art of hand-to-hand combat. Optimus engaged first. Megatron was delighted to exchange blows. His confidence in his expertise provided him a considerable advantage. He was an avid fighter in the gladiatorial arenas, so he believed he could easily take down a former archivist. Megatron was admittedly stunned by Optimus, however. The Prime clearly trained for eons to be able to withstand Megatron’s mastered skills. 

Each strike was met with agile hands. Optimus Prime was certainly proficient, Megatron could admit. Yet the title of Prime did not grant him invulnerability. He was slow and precise, but Megatron was patient too. He simply waited for the opportunity to advance. 

Fires crackled around them. The intense heat was exhausting and exhilarating all at once. It only took one slightly miscalculated step for Megatron to catch Optimus’s grip and gain the upper hand. The warlord hastily threw the Prime against a melting beam of the wall and the structure shattered instantly upon contact. The air escaped Optimus’s ventilation as his back met the unstable ground. He coughed as smoke entered with his breath. Once he recognized the threat of an imminent blade, he rolled out of the way and swung his pede to trip his opponent. Megatron met the floor, too. 

“You will surrender the Matrix to me,” Megatron demanded between coughs. 

Optimus scorned him, “You are unworthy of carrying such a vessel.” 

Megatron continued to pursue him on the ground. His arms moved swiftly to grab the Prime, but Optimus was eager to make his point by topping the warlord first. His digits clenched around Megatron’s neck cables with an unrelenting grip. Although, Megatron easily escaped the pin. He hastily mounted Optimus to the brittle ground and pressed his weight into the Autobot leader.

“And what makes you worthy?” Megatron ridiculed. His words were hot against Optimus’s face mask. “You. A humble archivist simply bearing an ancient relic that rightfully belongs to me. Could you truly believe that your legacy surpasses my own? My greatness is written in the stars.”

“The stars tell stories of your failure as well,” Optimus warned. His pedes shifted until he was unbound by the hands of Megatron. He wrestled to gain the advantageous position on top of the tyrant.

The Prime aimed his cannon directly into the warlord’s resentful expression. White licks of energy dispersed from the charged cannon in anticipation for release, although the Prime never fired. His widened optics flashed bright as pain infiltrated his systems. The warlord’s massive sword split through the armor of his lower abdomen.

Megatron huffed, “Your weakness will be your undoing. I would have shot me before making such a confident threat.” 

Although the advice was ill-mannered, Optimus still managed to retaliate. His sword punctured the warlord’s shoulder armor deep enough to expose the delicate workings of intricate metal beneath it. Energon pooled around the opposing leaders as they fought. Each leader was careful to divert the other’s weapon to avoid sustaining further injuries. While both of them seemed unbothered by their wounds, they understood the grave risk of making even the slightest mistake now. They were not simply fighting. They became desperate to kill each other. 

Adrenaline inspired their futile battle, despite the desolate skyscraper that was caving before them. The foundation was a tremble away from collapsing. Fires raged among them, and fueled their burning rage. Neither paid any mind to the fragile infrastructure until a bomb set off a substantial chain of events. First the walls fell then the ceilings and the floors became rubbish beneath their feet. Yet Optimus and Megatron continued to fight. They navigated through the descending beams until they landed on a steady platform.

“If you will not surrender the Matrix of Leadership, then I will pry it from its chamber through your lifeless husk,” Megatron claimed as their blades met once more.

He spun to face Optimus briefly before the Prime sliced the silver plating of his thigh. The wound burned as the fresh energon was exposed to the dense atmosphere of smoke and smog. The fires engulfing the pair seemed brighter, although Optimus appeared more solemn now than before. Megatron detected the concern in his distant stare, but he still readily engaged.

“The Matrix will not provide you with the power you seek,” Optimus informed as he prepared for Megatron’s imminent attack. “Its energy is unique to me alone.”

The warlord’s crimson stare darkened as he secured his powerful stance, “Then you will be mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the positive feedback! I'm also open to requests (:


	15. Prisoner I

Violet streams were etched in intricate designs upon the walls of the Nemesis. Those lowlights were the first thing Optimus could distinguish as his optics gradually flickered online and came into focus. His frame ached and his CPU pounded to the rhythm of his spark. He lost himself in the designs of lavender that decorated the walls. He was disoriented and consumed by vertigo. He tried to recall how he ended up in this situation, but his mind spun with exhaustion. He just needed to rest. Close his optics for a few moments. Collect himself.

Optimus felt his systems abruptly online after his reboot. He moved quickly as panic settled in, although he instantly recognized that his servos were dragged back down by sophisticated chains that lead his hands to the small of his back. 

How did he not realize that he was bound before? 

How long had he remained in such a state?

The unchanging low light of the cell revealed nothing of the Earth hour. If memory served, the last thing Optimus did was engage in a battle with Megatron. It was a brutal fight. Their sparring was typically relentless, although this session was particularly merciless. Optimus remembered how his frame suffered fresh wounds from Megatron's thick sword and burns from the heat of that notorious fusion cannon. As he examined his frame, Optimus noticed his wounds were dressed. 

Was it possible that he was treated by the Decepticon medic?

Optimus was overwhelmed by questions he couldn't find the answers to. A deep, raspy voice interrupted his thoughts and violated his audio feed. 

"I was beginning to expect you would never wake."

"Megatron...." Optimus let the name slide off his glossa. As he said the name, he sensed the cool air that chilled his face plates and instinctively elected to activate his mouth guard. However, the plates never shifted into place and he was left exposed to the warlord.

Megatron must have noticed Optimus's growing frustration and laughed, "There will be no need for that. I am sure that you have many questions. But first," he reached for an iridescent cube of energon that brightened the eerie quarters. Megatron gestured the cube to Optimus, but the Prime averted his gaze entirely. "Your energon levels are dangerously suboptimal," Megatron reminded, although he knew Optimus was well aware. The Prime still ignored him. "I suggest you reconsider my offer."

"What of my Autobots?" Optimus changed the subject.

Megatron grimaced, "The questions arise sooner than expected. Rest assured, you will receive answers once you replenish your systems." He nonchalantly gestured the cube once more as he spoke.

Optimus never looked up at him, nor the cube. He would sooner remain in this state of exhaustion before entertaining the games Megatron was clearly ready to engage. 

"No," he answered.

"No?" Megatron repeated. He approached his prisoner, finally bowing down to his knee strut to lock optics. His servo reached to grasp Optimus's blue chin. The talons aggressively clasped the metal to forcibly draw his stare. The energy in the cell quickly warped into the realm of something far more personal. Megatron's EM field was intense enough to make Optimus shiver. 

The warlord continued, "This offer was simply a kindness to you. I assure it will be my only if you refuse to comply. So long as you are in my chains, you will be obedient to your new liege."

"I will starve my systems before succumbing to your rule," Optimus calmly defied him. "Although that may never happen, so tell me of my Autobots."

Their optics burned brightly. Varying shades of azure and crimson clashed through the darkness of the room.

Megatron's patience grew ever thin, "Your Autobots are as good as _dead._ Every last one is imprisoned upon this very ship. Refuse me again, and I will see to it that their suffering surpasses your own."

Optimus's limbs began to quake from anger. He detected a subtle hint of unease from Megatron's EM field and suspected he was lying. "I do not believe you, Megatron.”

“And I do not care,” Megatron sneered. “You will hear it yourself now that you have regained consciousness. I kept four other cells busy for months while I let you recover. A kindness I certainly did _not_ extend to your Autobots after they sustained their injuries. I do believe there are four of them?”

Optimus swallowed the thickness of his fear. He was disturbed by Megatron’s casual behavior, and wondered if he was being sincere or if this was a tactic to coerce him into submission. 

Was he really out of commission for months?

He wondered what kind of torture his Autobots may have endured if they truly were captives upon the Nemesis. He also wondered how his Autobots would suffer if he refused to follow Megatron’s commands.

Optimus exhaled deeply in defeat. The cube of energon resting in Megatron’s palm lingered in his view. Hesitation slowed his reaction, but Optimus relented. His lips parted to accommodate the cube.

Megatron narrowed his stare, and huffed deeply in amusement. The warlord finally guided the cube to eye level before pressing it against his own lips and slowly consuming the energon. His crimson optics never averted from Optimus.

The Prime’s lips arched down in a visible grimace. He was disappointed that he satisfied Megatron’s petty game. He continued watching the warlord until he finished the cube just to place it on the ground and leave the cell without another word.

Megatron made his move, and if he was intent on playing some twisted game then Optimus was prepared for his turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post part II shortly!


	16. Prisoner II

Being a prisoner on the Nemesis should have terrified Optimus Prime. It did not, if only because he learned that Megatron was bluffing about capturing the Autobots. Optimus trusted that his Autobots were safe. That hope was the only thing that brought him solace in the confinement of his chains. Still, Megatron was determined to locate the Autobot base. He was focused, and it made his process rather thorough. Optimus assumed Megatron would simply beat the information out of him, but Megatron was not so hasty in the beginning. Megatron started the interrogation process with simple conversations, but Optimus was reluctant to engage. He was purposely vague which provoked the warlord.

The following cycles were more gruesome. Megatron became easily agitated. He was quick to lose his temper and expressed his rage through physical blows. Optimus endured torture beyond his initial expectations. 

Megatron was a ruthless warden. The punishments evolved with each session. Optimus refused to cooperate and suffered the consequences with vigor, but Megatron’s stamina was impressive. Each strike was powerful enough to disorient Optimus’s systems. Still, the Autobot leader never surrendered any details. Even as his captor pried the Matrix of Leadership from his frame, Optimus Prime never yielded. 

He was empty. His Autobots safety kept him alive, so he intended to keep them alive, too. He could handle Megatron. The warlord's methods of torture were vile and degrading, but Optimus would rather suffer Megatron's relentless wrath until his spark burned out than subject his Autobots to danger.

Optimus blinked his optics rapidly once the doors of his torture chamber shifted open. He knew his company without having to look. The sound echoed loudly as they instantly locked together.

“My liege,” he acknowledged. His trembling vocals nearly collapsed at the forced words. His entire frame ached considerably.

Megatron approached him. His fusion canon rippled online. The violet plasma glowed against the back of Optimus’s helm into his peripheral vision. The heat was uncomfortable against his neck cables.

“Your Autobots are quick to flee and quicker to hide,” Megatron informed. He anticipated that the threat would dishearten Optimus, but the Autobot leader was admittedly relieved to hear the news. Megatron continued bitterly, “It is pitiful. You have harbored cowards for eons. When they are captured, I will destroy them. ”

“If…” Optimus corrected in a deep whisper. 

This enraged the warlord. He pulled back his weapon simply to drive the joint of his elbow into Optimus’s helm in a powerful strike. Optimus felt enough static swarm his frame to truly fear the consequences of speaking out against Megatron again. A ringing frequency haunted his audios and his optics briefly malfunctioned. As his senses began to return, he quickly recognized the familiar heat of that fusion canon returned to its former position.

“Do tell me, Optimus,” Megatron began. “What inspires you to feign authority? I have stripped you of the Matrix of Leadership- stripped you of your name therefore your very relevance in this war- yet you still act like a Prime.” 

The warlord lowered his tone. He leaned in closer to his prisoner as he softly explained, “I will not stop searching for every last one of them. Not until they are all slaughtered. See, I was generous to keep you as my prisoner. I will not show such generosity to your Autobots. I will keep no prisoners.”

His talons clutched Optimus’s neck cables with a tenderness that Optimus wasn’t necessarily fond of. Optimus gritted his denta, “What will you do with me?”

Megatron came closer. His breath was unwelcome against Optimus’s audial fin, “I have determined an arrangement you may find irresistible after what you have endured.”

Optimus blinked slowly, “Go on.”

Megatron was impressed by his enthusiasm. He stood up to move to stand before the shackled Prime. His large frame towered over him. Megatron noticed every wound on him and relished in the existence of those scars. He took pride in each visible scar left by his own hand.

“Should you reveal to me the location of your Autobot base, I will guarantee your freedom.”

Optimus silently considered him, “And if I refuse?”

Megatron huffed, almost amused. He began to stride back and forth, “My generosity has yet to humble you. Regardless, I am sure you are aware of the technology I possess. I will simply see to it that the information I’ve requested is extracted through a cortical psychic patch.”

Optimus frowned visibly. He shut his optics to avoid Megatron’s livid stare. 

The warlord continued, “I know that you are aware of the location in which your Autobots seek refuge. Tell me, and I will spare your mind from the questionable medical expertise of my Decepticons. You will walk away with your life. Deny me this, and I will simply retrieve the information myself and terminate you.”

There weren’t any words that Optimus could manage. His mind was overcome as he considered Megatron’s conditions. 

Would he be able to betray his cause? To betray his Autobots?

“How does my life benefit you at all?” Optimus asked. “What reason do you have to give me so much power in this matter?”

Megatron adjusted himself as he prepared to explain, “I would prefer to kill you on equal grounds. This would be too easy. It would be unsatisfactory, but your insubordination has left me with _very_ few options.”

Optimus trembled with rage. Megatron’s pride was incredibly irritating, even if it was genuine. He didn’t expect such blunt honesty. He answered him with the same energy, “I have been here for some time. My Autobots may have established an entirely new base, since I have been out of contact. How could I possibly locate the Autobots as a prisoner when you are free and cannot achieve such a feat?”

“Don’t be coy with me. I am confident that you know their location,” Megatron dismissed, despite the obvious ridicule from his prisoner. “So what will it be, Optimus? Your Autobots or your freedom?”

Optimus bowed his helm in defeat. “I choose freedom. I will share this information with you only if I may guide you myself,” he firmly proposed. 

Megatron was skeptical. He examined Optimus. His optics followed the chains that bound his limbs behind his frame, “You are in no position to demand conditions.”

“If equal grounds are a legitimate incentive to spare my life here, then I urge you to consider my humble request.”

Optimus chose freedom. Freedom for his Autobots. This may very well lead to his termination, but it was worth trying. If Optimus knew Megatron as well as he hoped, he would not be able to resist the terms.

The warlord bowed to rest on a single knee strut. His crimson optics bore into Optimus's bright azure stare as he analyzed his vulnerable expression before making his decision.

Megatron nodded, "When shall we begin our expedition?"


	17. Betrayal

“I understand Vos has recently presented numerous threats, but is this what you blindly believe to be resolution?” Orion asked. His servo gestured to the bright hologram screens that lit the dark room with an azure aura. 

Vivid scenes of various bombings were displayed upon the large screens. Vos suffered an incredible loss that day. The polity was a target of Tarn for eons, but Orion did not expect such violent attacks since Megatronus gained significant political power in Tarn. Megatronus watched the scenes of terror as they looped on the various screens before them. The bright centers of his deep cerulean optics flashed as he focused on the chaos and basked in the destruction. 

“The High Council is ready to deem you the very head of this remarkable terrorism. These are your followers, Megatronus, and they have strayed from your words. Is this the message you intended Cybertron to receive?” 

Megatronus said nothing as he watched the scenes of skyscrapers collapsing before him- over and over again. 

“Megatronus,” the archivist begged after the silence.

The gladiator turned to him. A solemn expression rid his features that Orion hoped was horror, but instead saw delight. There was a hint of excitement. Satisfaction, maybe. 

“Tell me this was not your doing.” 

Megatronus looked away again before he confirmed, “It was not.”

Orion frowned noticeably, “To be honest, I am not convinced. I preserved your innocence in my report to Alpha Trion, but you must tell me the truth or the Council will discover it and cast public judgement without my influence. This could mean the end of their support for your cause.” 

“Does my involvement make a difference?” the gladiator questioned. “These matters are beyond the expertise of a librarian. Would anyone truly listen to you?”

Orion’s expression fell instantly as disbelief settled in. “Answer the question, Megatronus,” he firmly demanded. “Was this destruction ordered by your command?”

“The Council has long established their opinion of my Decepticons. Whether it is just is of no concern to them. They need someone to place the blame on,” Megatronus explained almost nonchalantly. 

Orion fumed with anger as he gestured to the hologram screens, “You knew about this, then? Innocent Cybertronians died-” 

“-Revolutions demand casualties,” Megatronus interrupted. His answer was too calm to satisfy the archivist. 

In response, Orion’s narrow servos lashed out to shove Megatronus’s lower chassis with a force that was commendable, yet pitiful against the structure of a gladiator. 

“I defended you!” the archivist exclaimed. Anger seethed from those clenched denta. His servo raised to point an accusing digit. “I spoke my piece to Alpha Trion. I insisted that it was not by your order. In the moment which it is revealed that I forged my report, they may disregard my opinion _entirely._ Your deception will be your downfall. You will _lose_ your voice with the Council, and for what? A violent statement that contradicts your own movement toward unity? This chaos will only divide Cybertron and spiral us into war.”

Orion’s servos extended again to attempt some distance between them. Megatronus hardly allowed it. The gladiator brought his own large servos out to grasp either side of Orion’s shoulder blades. He pressed the archivist away in an effort to calm him.

The librarian felt the breath deep in his chassis escape his lips as Megatronus firmly stabilized him. His bright azure optics flashed with resentment as they met with Megatronus’s own stare.

“You would do well to remember what side you stand, archivist,” the gladiator scorned. His servos pressed harder, only for a moment before he released Orion Pax from his harsh grasp. 

Orion’s face contorted in a disappointed grimace, “I stand by you. You would do well to remember that.”

Hesitation initially prevented Orion from leaving. He watched the screens with a terrible concern that formed a pit in his tanks before he looked to his friend again. The gladiator kept his absent stare on the recordings. Orion sensed unease in his electromagnetic field. The energy was dense with tension. It formed a barrier between the pair. He wished he knew whether Megatronus was being truthful, or if his trust in the gladiator blinded him from reality.

As Orion and Megatronus grew close, they exchanged many beliefs and theories about their government. Megatronus opened Orion’s eyes by exposing the faults in the caste system that the librarian often overlooked. Ever since their first meeting, Orion listened to Megatronus and closely trusted his judgement, but this was the first moment that Orion supposed that the High Council would be the one to provide an answer he could trust.


	18. Dyad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: mildly explicit/spark play

The trees hushed and stood motionless as the night settled. Nightfall on Earth was nothing compared to the vast cycles of twilight that reigned on Cybertron. Still, the hours were seemingly endless.

The late months of autumn fostered trees forged of evergreen that gently cascaded into golden and amber leaves as the summer heat was gently exchanged for the cool of winter. This season in particular offered longer nights. The moon was eager to rise, and the prolonged darkness provided an opportunity for the opposing leaders to meet in secret at their designated site. 

Megatron was generous enough to agree to the terms Optimus aimed to establish. He entrusted the Autobot leader with the responsibility of determining a worthy hideout. Optimus Prime elected a desolate cavern in Nevada, naturally. He could not afford to travel via ground bridge, mostly because of the energon it required but also to prevent Ratchet from unveiling his coordinates by tracking the destinations logged by their base’s systems. 

So, Optimus ventured by wheels to a location not quite out of reach, but remote enough to keep his departures discrete and avoid rousing suspicion. 

Matters such as these demanded privacy. The Autobots would surely condemn his choice, and Ratchet’s judgement would be clouded by his anger. For these reasons, Optimus elected to keep this arrangement a secret. This was foreign territory. Megatron rightfully followed in pursuit, for his Decepticons would certainly stir up controversy. Chaos would be subsequent should Starscream even suspect that Megatron was so casually fraternizing with his mortal enemy.

Thus, their meetings were kept brief. They discussed all details in a strictly professional manner, and worked together to organize the best course of action for locating energon and potentially travelling off world in search of more resources that could benefit either cause. Occasionally, their civil dynamic was exchanged for a more hostile environment when Megatron was irritable and Optimus was equally impatient. Their conversations often evolved into heated debates, but the progression they sought was too important to abandon. So, they strived to dial it down before it escalated beyond salvation.

Their meetings lengthened considerably when they were able to combine their opposing ideals, rather than dispute and disengage. Megatron and Optimus Prime could not have possessed more different philosophies, although this invited new perspectives which was crucial for advancing from perpetual conflict. 

Each of them were stubborn in their own ways. Even as young Cybertronians in the Golden Age upon their home world, as Kaonite gladiator and Iaconian archivist, they were prone to arguments. Millennia of warfare hardly inspired armistice, yet here they were together again.

Despite himself, Optimus grew sentimental during even the most powerful debates. Even after millennia, they still seemed to reflect the same dynamic of their past lives. They existed to challenge and support each other. Optimus experienced an unshakable nostalgia when they engaged in conversations that deeply intensified the energy between the cavern walls. He sensed it from Megatron, too, especially in all of the times they were able to successfully come to an agreement. 

This time was different, however. Megatron was reluctant to yield to any of Optimus’s suggestions. He was aggressively persistent and expressed it with compelling logic, but Optimus refused to compromise. Talking simply became yelling, until it shifted into the realm of something more physical. 

Somewhere between communicating and fighting, the opposing leaders met face to face. Microns apart. Both of their EM fields were dense with passion- with rage- with so many conflicting emotions that were released in a kiss. Their lips met in an open mouthed kiss that was sloppy and unpracticed, but it inspired more contact. Optimus eagerly threw his servos around Megatron in that moment of joy and fury. Each of his digits firmly clasped around the warlord’s heaving chassis to encourage him. Megatron took the invitation without hesitation. His large talons dipped beneath the crevices of Optimus’s silver thighs and guided him closer by lifting him against his own frame. 

Megatron swooped the Prime off his pedes in one easy controlled movement just to press him against the wall. Rocks and debris tumbled from the impact, but neither relented. Optimus broke the series of kisses to groan which only elicited the deep hum of Megatron’s cooling fans as they ripped online. 

It was electric.

Every kiss was desperate in nature, as if they had been deprived this level of intimacy for their entire lives. Almost as if it was unachievable. Unreachable. Although, it wasn’t the first time this happened. It had been eons since they found closure through such a means. They both knew it was destructive behavior. An unfortunate result of their undeniable connection that began far before the War for Cybertron initiated.

Optimus Prime and Megatron were a dyad in the universe. Creation and destruction, just like the Cybertronian deities that preceded them. 

Primus and Unicron, respectively.

Their connection intensified in moments like these where each of them surrendered their control and found balance together. 

The Prime ran his servos down the thick armor of Megatron’s back. The tips of his digits grazed over every old wound that had eventually healed and been polished down to mere scratches. There was so much history in those wounds that were simply buffed away. Megatron wore the weight of the war on his plating, just as Optimus did. They explored each other’s frames with a desperation that was calm, as if each of them dedicated every sight and sensation to memory.

Their kisses progressed until Megatron persuaded Optimus to reveal his spark by trailing hungry kisses down his steaming neck cables. Optimus obliged without delay. The massive armor of his crimson chassis swiftly transformed and shifted until the Matrix luminated the dark cavern. Their solemn facial expressions were easier to distinguish under the bright aura of pure energy. Azure optics met those of violet in a haze of devotion. Optimus responded to the silence by pressing his thin digits against the notorious insignia centered on Megatron’s chassis as a subtle request for permission. Megatron’s spark flickered with a unique violet essence as it was unsheathed from its casing.

White licks of energy cracked from the proximity of the opposing units of energy as they began to combine. The bonding process was vigorous. Optimus’s pure vessel tore from its chamber to meet with Megatron’s exposed spark. There was pleasure and pain as the physical plane joined the mental plane and the astral plane. Neither leader experienced the pressure of their raw bond in many eons, although both of them coaxed the other into a blissfully overwhelming overload as their sparks finally merged into one.

Optimus Prime found himself in the embrace of Megatron’s familiar servos again as he followed the extent of his overload and relished in that brief achievement of union. Megatron simply held him close. His talons tightly grasped the nape of his neck as he pressed his helm against Optimus's audio fin. The breath of his spent ventilations echoed into Optimus’s audio feed and provoked an unnamable feeling while he found comfort in their momentary closeness.

That feeling. That apprehension. That sense of death deferred. That’s Megatron. Back of the neck, tips of the fingers, edge of his spark. That’s him. 

That’s always him.


	19. Tundra

Earth’s natural biomes provided an exceptionally broad spectrum of conditions. Energon existed in nearly every continent. Although rare, rich energon deposits have been located in the Antarctic. 

Early that week, the Autobot base’s systems discovered a critical spike of energon in the East Antarctic Plateau. The high elevation and proximity to the South Pole credits it as the coldest region on Earth. Therefore, it was likely that Decepticons avoided mining in this area to preserve their resources for more suitable environments. Mining in the blizzards was often a futile expenditure. Subzero temperatures were dangerous for Cybertronians. 

Optimus always took it upon himself to venture into these colder territories, lest he subject his Autobots to freezing climates. While he hardly preferred to go alone, the other Autobots were currently engaged in various endeavors. Ratchet was needed to monitor the ground bridge and provide medical care if needed. So, Optimus travelled alone to the desolate tundra in hopes to unearth a significant stockpile. Their energon reserves were at an all time low, so it was desperation that inspired this journey into the chilling domain. While its remote location put Optimus at risk for losing connection via communications link or potentially freezing his internal units, it was still safer than attempting to mine in a more popular energon hotspot that would surely be teeming with Decepticons. 

Thus, the Antarctic proved to be viable grounds for discovering energon that would present far less dangerous obstacles. Optimus Prime explored the vast tundra with an unwavering determination to collect energon for his Autobots. Even as snow storms raged through the continent, Optimus persisted. He followed his proximity tracker as it guided him toward what he hoped would be shelter. Perhaps a cave, if he was fortunate.

Despite the continent's freezing temperatures, the heat emanating from nearby volcanoes made caves rather hospitable. Warm enough, at least, to slow down the systemic shock that occurs when a Cybertronian becomes far too acquainted with cold enough weather.

Optimus gradually approached a subglacial cave that was a treasure trove of hidden geological gems including energon. The icy realm existed beneath the surface of a long frozen lake complete with its own channels. Vast canyons of crystals guided him toward enough energon to last several breems, although it was not simply there for the taking. 

Megatron was there, too. Mining the same energon for himself with a terrible disregard for the structural integrity of the glacier. The passageways were not exactly delicate, but the warlord’s brute strikes were reckless and powerful enough to threaten the stability of its crystalline walls. It was almost as if Megatron was searching for something else. Something more valuable than energon that was disguised by a raw formation of the large azure crystals. 

It wasn’t until he ceased his excavating that he noticed his company. Optimus Prime stood there, silent and motionless, as he watched Megatron nonchalantly swing the massive axe he used to rest it against his shoulder blade. His silver armor was decorated with flurries, and snow was buried in the crevices of his plating. 

Megatron laughed lowly before greeting his rival, “How convenient that you arrive when I am nearly finished gathering my prize.”

Optimus instinctively prepared his guard. His digits formed tight fists against his sides to conserve heat as he carefully analyzed Megatron. The warlord’s entire frame was frosted over. However subtle, his EM field expressed that his internal systems were drastically compromised from prolonged exposure to such cold conditions. Judging by his current state, Megatron must have been there for many cycles before Optimus arrived. 

“What exactly did you hope to find here, Megatron?” Optimus asked as he gestured to the icy energon. His tone was serious, and revealed that he was concerned. He knew Megatron would not waste time personally mining an energon deposit, especially one so desolate and cold, no matter how significant the reward.

There was something greater here.

Megatron must have understood the genuinity of Optimus’s question, since he only huffed deeply in response. He was always more perceptive than he led on, and could read Optimus so easily. He ridiculed the Prime, “Am I to believe that you came all this way for energon? Are you honestly _so_ desperate for fuel?” 

Optimus ignored his cruel banter, “It has come to my attention that there are many resources that exist under this very glacier that could potentially be of use. I am here to obtain what I need, and be on my way.” 

“Then you are not the only one,” Megatron warned. “There is plenty of energon here. I shall spare it just for you _._ The ancient relic buried beneath eons of sleet is worth far more to me.” 

Optimus was admittedly stunned. It began to make sense. An ancient relic was certainly powerful enough to trigger a critical surge of energy within the Autobot base’s systems. However, he was more surprised to find that both he and Megatron were somehow alone on their Antarctic missions. 

“Is it of Cybertronian origin?” Optimus inquired. He was hesitant to approach the warlord. That axe was a rather intimidating weapon in the wrong hands. Nonetheless, his interest was peaked. 

“Naturally,” Megatron answered as he blasted through the frozen crystals once more. Shards of ice and the essence of energon clouded the relic as it was finally revealed. Megatron held the container between his talons as he analyzed its casing, “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me in unveiling the properties of my new possession?”

Optimus shifted his glance. Perplexed, his frosted brows furrowed against his stare. He could very well deny Megatron’s uncharacteristically civil proposal, but his curiosity reigned over his judgement. The Prime came closer, within reason, still wary of the warlord. He carefully read the characters of Cybertronian text. His optics were inquisitive, “The language is derived from ancient Tarn.”

Megatron hummed eagerly, “Perhaps a weapon of mass destruction then, or the blueprints for one.” 

The Prime only offered a deadpan expression. He was unamused by the sadistic suggestion, but Megatron was hardly discouraged. He swiftly activated the relic by deciphering a simple code engraved on the shell, and the casing subsequently transformed into a beacon that displayed coordinates written in a similar Tarnian dialect. 

Bright azure symbols luminated their expressions in the low light of the cavern. The only source of light came from the dim aura of energon crystals that passed through the cave as intricate channels. 

“The coordinates are offworld,” Optimus inferred.

“Indeed. A week’s trip at best,” Megatron agreed. “It is unfortunate that you will be unable to accompany me. Who knows what I shall uncover.”

It was true. An adventure of this nature required a ship, and Optimus’s standard vehicle mode prevented him from being able to travel by means of flight, unlike Megatron. 

The warlord enclosed the device and attached it to his frame. His cold crimson optics locked on Optimus, “Perhaps I could afford to accommodate you. I happen to have a ship at my disposal that comfortably fits two. I will be ready to depart by dawn, but you have quite a project ahead of you.” 

Both leaders admired the small field of energon before them which solicited an introspective silence. It would take at least a few hours to gather so much raw energon, and he would need to formulate a substantial alibi to be absent for an entire week. The Autobots were often kept busy, but Ratchet would be skeptical. However, this was an offer he couldn’t justly refuse. If the coordinates led to a powerful weapon, as Megatron harshly suggested, then Optimus needed to bear witness. 

Optimus looked to Megatron again, “Then my work will be haste.” 

“I expect nothing less from you, Optimus,” Megatron speculated. He transferred a new set of coordinates via communications link. “Meet me here before sunrise. This expedition demands urgency, and confidentiality.” 

The warlord walked over to his energon axe. His talons clasped around the massive tool until he could lift it with ease. He approached Optimus, almost too close for comfort, and handed him the axe. It was a generous gesture, considering he was his arch nemesis. 

“Work swiftly,” Megatron advised before gifting his axe to the Prime who hesitated before taking the throat of the handle into his own grasp. The slow breath from their ventilations was visible in the cold atmosphere. 

Optimus nodded once. He was prepared to finish in time for their journey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megatron subtly asking Optimus on a date gives me life. I’d like to thank all of you for reading and I look forward to posting more soon!


	20. Refresher

"Come on," the gladiator challenged. His large frame spun with ease as he moved around his opponent. Orion Pax steadied himself as he engaged. He brought his armed servo out to test Megatronus’s agility with a powerful thrust of his sword. “Your size is your weapon,” the gladiator reminded, “Use it.” 

Orion was quick and steadfast. Indeed he was small compared to the build of a typical warrior, but Megatronus inspired him to use his size to his advantage. The data clerk learned how to stand his ground. He maneuvered with ease, and was fast to both advance and evade. 

Cycles of training left the pair exhausted. Orion Pax had an insatiable drive to learn, even when it came to that of sparring. He could spend the entire day with Megatronus who gladly trained him. Training Orion Pax was an experience quite different from all of his other apprentices, so Megatronus dedicated ample time to spar in the arenas with Orion. The librarian was eager and exciting to teach, but he had much to learn before he would ever be able to truly win a fight. 

One choice strike from the gladiator was enough to knock Orion off his guard. He fell to his back, and the air from his ventilation escaped him in a hefty groan that quickly became a soft laugh of defeat.

“I must admit your defense has improved considerably,” Megatronus complimented as he exchanged his blade for digits that stretched before curling into a fist. 

Orion struggled to compose himself. He replied with bated breath, “Yet I am down here, and you stand victorious.”

“Perhaps one day our perspectives will be reversed,” the gladiator encouraged. “Although I do not anticipate that day, since you look especially delightful from this angle.” Following the light hearted quip, Megatronus offered his servo. Their hands met in a firm embrace and Megatronus guided him to his feet again as he spoke, “I would continue your training, but I have a rather busy evening in Tarn.”

“Of course,” Orion understood. He wiped away the beads of oil that gathered above his brows, “I have work to do in the archives, though I would seriously benefit from a washer before we go. I may look delightful, but I certainly do not smell it.” 

“There is a refreshing station here,” Megatronus reminded with a laugh. He rolled his shoulders back, “It’s hardly luxurious, but I think we are both in desperate need of a shower.” 

They walked in unison to the refreshing station just beyond the gladiatorial arenas where they often practiced. They went back and forth casually exchanging their experience from the previous sparring session. The archivist commended a particular move he had never seen before, so Megatronus even demonstrated the powerful spin kick as they walked. Orion confidently attempted to shadow box the advanced move. The gladiator assured he would thoroughly teach him next time they met.

The refreshing station was larger than Orion expected. There were halls of washers available, but none were divided for privacy. Lower caste systems often exhibited displays such as this one. While Orion Pax was accustomed to the standard conditions of a higher caste system, he remained humble and intrigued by lifestyles beyond his Iaconian background. 

Steady streams rained from above to wash away the oils and debris that collected on their plating. Their conversations eventually subsided to a comfortable silence as they focused on bathing. Orion basked in the warmth as he brushed the grime from his frame. His servos crossed over his crimson chassis to clean his shoulders and slowly glided his palms down to his narrow waist. Megatronus briefly looked over to Orion Pax, and caught a glimpse of the archivist in such a vulnerable state. The intimate view almost flustered him as he washed the dirt from his own armor that was in desperate need of cleansing after cycles of intense training. 

Orion actually did the same. Despite his efforts not to, his curious optics wandered to Megatronus several times. Each time, he noticed something new. A buffed scar, or simply the curvature of his broad frame from a new point of view. Surely he noticed Megatronus was charming before, but the atmosphere of the refresher made him seem especially pleasant to the eyes. They had moments like this more frequently as their friendship progressed over the eons. Moments that inspired something beyond friendship. Neither of them ever truly dared to transcend into the realm of romance, but the temptation was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Suddenly, Orion's cooling fans ripped online at the thought of it. The subtle hum of his internal systems echoed gently against the sound of the running showers. 

The soft whir of his engine was low, but Megatronus heard it. He had no intention of making Orion Pax uncomfortable, so he made no comment on the sound while he casually admired the archivist. His stare lingered for perhaps longer than appropriate. Orion noticed it, which only provoked his fans into circling that much faster. Their optics met through the beams that showered overhead. 

The gladiator smirked as he ran the palm of his servo over his facial plates, “I take back what I said.”

Orion smiled softly, but his brows slowly furrowed as he processed Megatronus’s remark. He asked, “What about?” 

“This refresher is luxurious,” Megatronus corrected himself. His optics gestured to Orion, revealing his innuendo, “With the right company.”


	21. Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: mildly explicit/spark play

“You have been ignoring my communications link,” Orion sternly greeted. He must have messaged Megatronus at least a dozen times over the last kilocycle. He invited himself into the gladiator’s domain with data pads in hand. “Perhaps under normal circumstances, I would behave more professionally. However, this is urgent.” 

“See to it, then, archivist,” Megatronus ordered. “I am rather busy. I will be spectating for an event hosted by the Senate tomorrow in Tarn.”

His nonchalant tone admittedly irked Orion Pax, who placed the data pads down with visible frustration in his expression. He continued to urge his purpose for arriving so untimely, “That is quite a journey, but this will only take a few moments.”

Megatronus sighed. He finally took a seat to demonstrate his willingness to participate. 

So, Orion spoke quickly, “I have made it abundantly clear that I disapprove of the connections you have recently developed, although I am eager to hear how the meeting goes. Still, I value your input in this matter before your departure.”

“And what is this about? Couldn't you have confided in Soundwave?” Megatronus asked.

“This concerns you and I alone,” the archivist explained as he took the seat adjacent to his friend. In many ways, Orion trusted Soundwave. However, he did not trust the Ascenticons. “This is an opportunity we have anticipated for many eons. I understand that you are otherwise engaged, so I suggest that we schedule a meeting where we can properly formulate a proposal for the High Council. My request was approved.”

Megatronus was intrigued, “And when is the official date?” 

Orion placed his servos on his knee struts and readied himself to leave, “It should be whenever we are adequately prepared. Perhaps we could establish this when you return?”

“You already traveled this far to bear such news,” Megatron stalled. “I have an early trip, but you and I are no stranger to late nights.”

Orion nodded as he prepared a specific data pad, “Then our work will be sufficient. I suggest we start here.” 

They worked together, enduring waves of silence and intense conversations, for endless cycles. Along the vast journey of their friendship, each of them adapted different philosophies and connections that guided them to different positions. Orion Pax anticipated becoming the head archivist, while Megatron ran for Senate. They faced eons of unmatched closeness, and inexplicable distance, as they embraced their destinies. 

Their friendship was waning. They felt it. The shift. Still, nothing could have prevented this moment. Each of their mindsets grew apart in ways they had yet to comprehend. Somehow, they developed common grounds to appeal to the High Council on the behalf of Cybertron.

Megatronus and Orion leaned back in their seats once they accomplished their work. It was exhilarating. Overwhelming, almost, to have finally finished the proposal.

“I cannot thank you enough for sparing time for this,” Orion genuinely thanked him. It was nearly morning. “I suppose I should leave now.”

The gladiator stopped him, “You are welcome to stay with me.”

Orion was pleasantly surprised. It had been a long time since he last stayed there. He swallowed his hesitation, “Your hospitality has always been a gift. I do not wish to take advantage. You do have an early trip.” 

“It can wait,” Megatronus assured. “Right now, traveling is the last thing on my mind. These are appropriate grounds to celebrate.”

Orion grinned with disbelief, “Celebrate? This late?”

“Don’t you mean this early?” the gladiator matched his smile. “And yes. It’s about time for a fueling session anyway. I have a reserve saved for this exact occasion. I just never imagined it would have happened under these circumstances.”

“Then I am certainly obligated to indulge with you,” Orion happily agreed. 

They drank their cubes. Toasting to their successes, and to their elaborate history. As their cubes rendered empty, the pair moved to Megatronus’s private quarters. The gladiator sat on his large cot, still grinning about some witty remark Orion made as they walked in. His grin was traded for a serious expression once the archivist approached him. Orion Pax stood before him. His optics flashed with a bright intensity. Unmoving. Neither spoke. Megatronus simply reached forward to grasp Orion’s servo to guide him that much closer.

They were destined to explore this. Eons of hesitation and silent yearning were cast aside just for this one true experience of closeness. Intimacy beyond their wildest expectations. A genuine connection, always meant to happen, even as their bond became silk ropes that slipped through their grasp. Nothing would deny them this final moment. In some way, it was closure. A way to end their previous dynamic in exchange for something foreign. 

Orion Pax finally pressed forward. His anxious lips met Megatronus in an open mouthed kiss driven by so many emotions. Content and resentment both released in a sensual kiss.

Passion fueled their movements. The gladiator pulled Orion closer with desperate servos that clinged to his small frame. The librarian hardly needed encouragement. His pedes swung around each side of Megatronus’s hips to straddle his pelvis as their kisses deepened considerably. They both sat on the berth as they pulled at the other to elicit moans and sighs that inspired an intimate tempo. 

Orion’s electric touch pressed into Megatronus’s chassis with a demanding urgency. His burning digits quaked with desire. Their optics met. The combining shades of azure pierced through one another as Megatronus activated the plates of his chassis. The chamber transformed, and his spark was revealed upon the echo of that classical tune. His essence swirled in a purely blue aura. The archivist gasped for breath at the sight of it, and steadily exhaled his overwhelming anticipation. Gentle lips traveled across Megatronus’s shoulder armor until they reached the nook of his neck. That chaste touch inspired strong servos to grasp the archivist’s silver thighs with a certain intensity that brought Orion’s attention back to that hungry mouth. Megatronus kissed him with a commendable force that was somehow still soft and delicate. It was a kiss that earned him the sight of Orion’s radiant spark. 

White licks of energy dispersed from their sparks as they anticipated the merge. Megatronus brought a single servo up to cup Orion’s helm and admire his expression before kissing him. Orion leaned into the embrace. His digits explored the gladiator’s thick shoulder armor, slowly weaving between crevices to locate sensitive mesh and wiring. Megatronus became heated from the delightful touch of those sophisticated servos. Their half-lidded stares locked once their lips paused. Neither needed to say a word. Their intentions were understood by the sighs and whispers of their exposed sparks. The dense energies were intense and honest. A spark bond meant every truth and desire would rise to the surface. Both sparks begged for union through subtle hums that surpassed any frequency they could truly ever fathom. 

The two units of energy reached for each other, like they anticipated this connection for eons. Orion adjusted by wrapping his pedes around the gladiator’s waist. By doing so, their frames pressed together. The circling units of bright azure linked together as their minds focused solely on the bond. They were consumed by each other in that moment of pure vulnerability. The process was vigorous and passionate. Kisses lengthened and deepened with each stroke of their hands down the other’s frame. Megatronus cupped the palm of his servo against Orion’s dorsal plating to encourage a gentle rocking motion. The archivist held Megatronus’s sharp helm as he guided them closer to overload. 

Swirls of cerulean emerged from their bond as it formed. The intense shock of pleasure coaxed a simultaneous overload. It was a systemic experience. Every neural net received the climax and dispelled the charge through every wire. 

Megatronus and Orion simply held each other in that moment to experience that blissful wave together. Even the deepest thoughts and truths were made facile to apprehend. They knew this bond would not mend their friendship, but it would provide comfort through closure. The connection brought solace in the most inexplicable way. 

Despite everything they had already been through for countless eons, through cherishable memories and heated debates that alienated them, somehow they had a feeling that this was just the beginning. 


End file.
